


Dragging You Down

by AraniaArt, Kamiki



Series: Falling's Just Another Way to Fly [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Anal Sex, Body Dysphoria, Body Horror, Bottom Bucky Barnes, Canon-Typical Violence, Creature Fic, Demons, Dubious Consent, F/M, Gangbang, Hurt Bucky Barnes, Internalized Homophobia, Lust, M/M, Male lubrication, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Minor Bucky Barnes/Original Minor Character(s), Minor Peggy Carter/Steve Rogers, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Occult, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Orgasm Denial, Period-Typical Homophobia, Pheromones, Pining, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Psychological Torture, Self-Mutilation, Slow Burn, Succubi & Incubi, Succubus!Bucky, Suicidal Thoughts, Top Steve Rogers, Transformation, World War II, demon!Bucky, 中文翻译 | Translation in Chinese
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-27
Updated: 2016-12-09
Packaged: 2018-07-18 15:18:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 27
Words: 81,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7320499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AraniaArt/pseuds/AraniaArt, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kamiki/pseuds/Kamiki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a divergence from the canon storyline, Hydra experiments with occult legends of a more demonic bent.  When Bucky is captured at Azzano, something more insidious than a knock-off super soldier serum is done to him, but the full effects take some time to completely set in.  Bucky struggles with building impulses and an increased libido while trying to keep his interest in Steve from boiling over and ruining Steve’s chance at the life he deserves.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [Dragging You Down](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9182695) by [M7nico](https://archiveofourown.org/users/M7nico/pseuds/M7nico)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ ](http://arania.kamiki.net/misc/fanfics/hopeless--geek%20web%20draggingyoudown.png)
> 
> Cover image by Hopeless--Geek! ([wuzzy90 on AO3](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wuzzy90))  
>  [ Reblog it on tumblr here!](http://hopeless--geek.tumblr.com/post/163768928516/in-a-divergence-from-the-canon-storyline-hydra)
> 
> *
> 
> Mind the warnings! My overarching goal is for this to be a three part series:
> 
> "Dragging You Down" is the first part, Gothic Horror genre, and entirely set during WW2. The fic is a slow boil and spiraling descent that explores themes of internalized homophobia as Bucky becomes a male succubus. 
> 
> The second story in the series will deal with Buck’s time with Hydra and will involve HTP and dub/noncon themes. However, that part can also be skipped over (and I'll probably post a summary after it's complete that hits the highlights somewhere for people who decide to skip it). 
> 
> The third will picking up with this AU's version of the events of CAtWS. 
> 
> While there will be dark themes, ultimately, I want to write a happy ending for our long-suffering boys. 
> 
> I'm developing my own Demon/Succubus mythos for this story that hopefully will be explicated through the narrative of the story - and I plan to also post separately when I'm finished; I'm putting way too much thought into this, but it should hopefully be a fun ride!

Azzano, Hydra, and the whole goddamn war could go fuck themselves.    As far as Bucky Barnes was concerned, this was sure the hell not what he signed up for.  

Sure, things had started out well enough.  He’d been up talking politics with Steve and how they were going to make a difference after the news reached their ears about Pearl Harbor.   He’d enlisted, eager to fight the good fight and do what was right for his country.  He’d flown through basic, earned his CO’s attention and sergeant’s bars before ever shipping out thanks to, apparently, a latent skill with a rifle, a steady hand, and a good eye.  Not to mention the tenacity and stubbornness that got him through growing up on the streets of Brooklyn and in and out of more fistfights than he cared to count.  And he looked damn fine in his dress uniform if he did say so himself.  

And Steve… hell, as much as he would’ve loved to be shipping off to war with his best buddy by his side when he left New York, now, knowing he was home and _safe_ was the one thing Bucky found himself clinging to.  

Because the shine on that penny tarnished pretty damn quick once he found himself overseas and in the nightmare of real war.  Color seemed to fade into the endless haze of gunpowder in the air and cold, squelching mud on the ground.  Men, _good_ men, who fought by his side lost their lives in the blink of an eye, sometimes mid-conversation.  The idealistic, righteously-charged young man eager to take on the Axis with nothing but a gun and a smile seemed to die along with them, leaving behind a scared kid in way over his head.  But still, Bucky was damned if he was going to let on just how hollow he felt inside.  He had learned, despite the horrors of war, how to keep that mask in place.  

Now, Bucky would have traded a lifetime of freezing mud and gunpowder laden skies for the fresh hell he’d found himself in.  

The battle at Azzano had been a disaster.  The 107th was grossly underprepared for the Hydra forces that they found there.  Since Bucky had gone to war, he’d faced walls of men, mortar, gas, and bullets and wave after wave of enemy troops, but nothing had readied him for these weapons that seemed like they came out of a pulp novel.  Fucking ray guns it seemed like that wiped men completely out of existence with a shot.  The “battle” was virtually over before it began, with three quarters of the 107th breaking ranks and retreating, leaving him and the rest of the survivors surrounded, captured, and marched back to some kind of “research facility”.

Cue months of imprisonment in overcrowded cells that stank of rot and human refuse, backbreaking forced manual labor during the day, and a building sense of hopelessness.  Still, chances be damned, Bucky was determined to give Hydra nonstop hell.  A grin, a smart remark and a unflappable attitude, even if it had become more of an act than anything else, kept morale up among the men, and pissed off Hydra even more: so to Barnes, that was a win.  Or, at least as much of one as he could expect.  It earned him lashes, it earned him harder work, but anything he could do, he was going to fucking do it.  

He also kept his eyes and ears open.  Even if they were stuck far behind enemy lines, and even if Bucky _knew_ that the chances were slim to none that the army was going to mount a rescue mission, if they DID make it out, Bucky wanted to come back with intel.  He was glad that he had been picking up smatterings of German and Italian.  He tried, he tried his damndest to treat this like an intelligence gathering mission.  It kept him sane.

At first, he memorized what he saw of the layout of the holding facility.  It seemed to have once been some kind of medieval keep or something with heavy stone walls that had probably stood for centuries.  He tried to count guards and their rotations, making a note of how many other prisoners were being held and who else was there.   But the more he learned, the more the pit of his stomach felt heavy.  Something really, really unsettling was going on here – moreso than a normal POW labor camp.  There were a lot of Hydra men here who weren’t soldiers or guards.  They bore the Red Skull’s logos on crisp, officer uniforms or pressed robes.  They never spoke with the prisoners, and Bucky only rarely caught a glimpse of them heading towards a back portion of the keep he hadn’t seen.  A permanent stench of smoke and unplaceable spices or something that stung the nose hung in the air.  There were unsettling scorch marks or gouges in the walls around the old converted keep.  The work they had them doing was not only the demeaning rockbreaking of some kind of prison camp, but some of the prisoners with steady hands were set to carve weird glyphs into rocks.  Others were lashed when they were set about to construct heavy, reinforced pillars or cross-beams if the dimensions were not perfect down to the millimeter.  

To make matters worse, every week or so, someone new was dragged from the cells towards the back part of the facility and never heard from again.  There were whispers, but even most of the guards that Bucky could overhear seemed skittish about what was going on in “The Backroom”.  From what he could piece together, Hydra were not only sadistic Nazi bastards, but had completely set sail on the crazy boat.  He overheard talks of rituals, of sacrifices and how magic was going to win the world for Hydra.  _Magic_.  Fuck, Bucky loved a good story or picture show that dealt with monsters, magic, or far flung future concepts, but he wasn’t stupid enough to think that kind of shit was real.  He’d heard how Hitler had encouraged research into that kind of bullshit for propaganda or morale or some other piece of gobbledygook, but to see good men dragged off and killed in the name of some kind of bullshit experiment wasn’t laughable: it was chilling how far down the rabbit hole this many enemy soldiers had gone.  And he was in their hands.

Bucky knew he was really screwed when a cough that had been bothering him since they were picked up in the battlefield took up residence in his lungs.  Even the other men in the cell started to comment on how pale and clammy he looked.  But the more Bucky tried to fight through it, to not give the enemy a lick of satisfaction of seeing him slow down, the worse he felt.  The already cold, dank cell chilled him to the bone, but he was still sweating.  And his hacking coughs were keeping both him and the men up at nights.  He couldn’t help but think of Steve fighting through pneumonia all those winters, and once again, he gave him strength.  He had never backed down from bullies when they were kids and Steve was maybe 45 lbs soaking wet, and it inspired Bucky to stand up right alongside with him.  If the skinny asthmatic kid could do it, what was his excuse?  Steve refused to give in to the kids who always guarded the fastest shortcut between home and school – and Bucky joined him.  Together, they sent them running and no longer did they have to take the long way around.  That had sealed their friendship for life.  

Now, Bucky called on Steve’s strength again to fight something he couldn’t do with fists, just stubbornness and determination – and that, fortunately, was something they both had in spades.

But working through sickness was taxing.  And one day, the heat behind his eyes and shaking hands caused his vision to blur as he was carving some other piece of mumbo jumbo onto a rock. His tool slipped, marring the glyph.  The taskmaster was behind him in a moment, laying a heavy blow with the lash across his shoulders.  

Bucky snapped.  He turned, “Lookit here, Fritz.  You don’t give a damn if I’m sick, and I don’t give a damn if I get these doodles done just right.  So unless you got yourself a doctor here, I think I might just need to get some carving practice on your ass!”

The man’s smile put a shark’s to shame, “Oh, ve have doctors.  Thank you for volunteering.”  
  
Bucky’s blood ran cold as hands seized him by the shoulders.  He struggled, but between being sick and the three-to-one odds, all he managed was a good kick to the shark-faced Hydra supervisor’s shins before he was dragged away from his workstation and towards… No.  
  
He could feel the eyes of the other prisoners on him: all of them with barely-disguised pity.  No one knew what was back there, but everyone knew what happened to the men who were taken into the back room.  

Bucky was sure of one thing: he was going to die. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic was inspired by a roleplay between my wife (kamiki) and I (araniaart), but this is the first fic that I am doing most of the writing for on my own – so I’m both excited and nervous! Comments, encouragement, etc is super awesome and encouraged! If you see a need for a tag I don’t have please let me know!
> 
> If you want to talk to me about the fic, or just follow me on tumblr, I’m at [ araniaart.tumblr.com](http://araniaart.tumblr.com)
> 
> My wife and co-conspirator is at [ shipperhipster.tumblr.com](http://shipperhipster.tumblr.com)
> 
> And for the record, I do love artwork *coughs*  
>  


	2. Chapter 2

Bucky almost immediately regretted the mote of curiosity he had about what secrets Hydra was hiding in “The Backroom”.  The moment he was drug past the heavily barred doors and into a darkened, torch-lit hallway like something out of a Universal monster movie, he was assaulted with a sweltering heat laden with a rancid smell.  The humidity of the passageway immediately soaked his clothes, the stench permeating every scrap of cloth, hair, and pore of his body.  The flickering torchlight added to the surreality and disorientation, and Bucky’s head spun.  Already nauseous and sick, Bucky lost what little was left in his stomach.  To his credit, his aim was spot-on as always and he managed to hit the spit-shined boot of one of the goose-stepping goons.  It earned him a swift kick, but it was worth it.  Bastard probably polished those things before bed every fucking night.  Good luck cleaning those now.

His shit-eating grin faded, however, as the passageway opened up into a high-ceilinged, round room.  Instead of torches, the same eerie blue light of the weapons’ discharge they had encountered on the battlefield arced through a complex series of wires lining the upper walls.  Glowing cords and power units, from what Bucky could surmise, crisscrossed in a very deliberate looking pattern set into familiar-looking beams and pillars from the factory.  The eerie blue light that Bucky had quickly learned to hate illuminated the glyphs that Hydra had the prisoners carving, set into the walls all around the room at an even interval.  

And in the very center of this godforsaken room: Bucky didn’t know how else to describe it other than a fucking altar.  It was a single massive piece of rough-hewn stone carved into the vague shape of a flat-surfaced table; it looked as if it had been transplanted from some ancient ruin like Stonehenge or Dracula’s castle or something.  More ruins in the same style as the ones that Bucky carved over and over onto the rocks until his hands were bloody encircled the base of the altar and were inscribed into the four corners of the slab. In concentric circles surrounding the altar were more runes and geometric designs painted in red.  Bucky seriously doubted that it was paint.  Ominously, heavy-duty manacles had also been secured to the four corners of the altar, the shining steel an obvious anachronism compared to the weathered ruins and crudely carved table.  Which means they were probably only added recently, to hold people there against their will.  People like him.  Wonderful.

The room smelled like the battlefield outside Azzano: the same singe of electricity mixed with something inscrutably _else_ mixed with burned flesh, blood, bile and refuse.  And it was quickly apparent why: there was no doubt in Bucky’s mind that people had died here.  Even if he hadn’t known how many other prisoners had been dragged back here, even if he were completely nose-blind and couldn’t identify the all-too familiar smell of death, the deep red stains on the altar that dripped off of it and pooled on the stone floor around it was pretty damning.  The bloody drag marks that led from just outside the painted circles to a far, darkened corner of the room and another door was worse.   Nausea swam with rage in Bucky’s gut.  Those had been men – _good_ men, discarded like so much refuse in the name of some … _cult?!_   

Bucky made himself pull his eyes away from the second door and dismiss the gruesome images from his mind, but found himself staring forebodingly at the altar instead.

And, of course, that’s exactly where they were dragging him. “Gee, thanks, boys – a bed!  I could sure use a nap!” 

<“The American thinks he’s funny.”> One of the Hydra goons chortled in German to the other.

<”We will not need to put up with him for long.  You saw what happened to-“> The other one shut up quickly as the far door opened and a pig-faced man with round, wire-rimmed glasses strode into the room, casting a sharp glance at the man who was speaking.

“Is this the new subject?  Secure him to the table and send for the preparation compounds.”  
  
“Ja, Herr Zola.” They said succinctly, in unison as Bucky, despite his last desperate thrashing, was secured in the manacles to the altar.  Up close, there was an unsettling amount of crusty reddish brown material on those cuffs…  
  
“You are fucking insane!  I hope you know that!” Bucky shouted as they strapped him down, “I don’t know if you buy into whatever bullshit you’re slinging here or if this is just some kind of crazy ploy for Nazi gold, but if you actually believe that whatever – I don’t know  - magic _ritual_ you’re trying to do here is real, then you’re crazier than a shithouse rat!”

“Oh, Sergeant Barnes isn’t it?” Zola’s face squeezed into a puckered smile, “Magic, as you so contritely put it, is merely man’s way of trying to explain concepts far too advanced for most people to begin to comprehend.  Legends, Myth, Magic – many of these stories are based on fact; on _science_ that primitive man and the unenlightened passed off as pure fantasy.  You have seen the results that some of my most preliminary studies have yielded on the battlefield, and yet you, and many more, still dismiss my work.  The great Schmidt sees the value in casting an eye back to the old beliefs to reap the untapped rewards just waiting to be rediscovered.  He has given funding to my research, and in return, I give him _miracles_.”

“Sounds like you give him a pile of-“ A wet hacking cough interrupted Bucky’s words- “- a pile of dead bodies, you crazy fucking cultist!” 

 Zola’s face hardened, “I do not know why I bother to try to enlighten one such as yourself.  Think of it this way, Mr. Barnes – that pneumonia you have will probably kill you in a matter of days.   You should hope that the procedure works this time, or you are dead either way.”  He gave Bucky a patronizing smile as the original guards returned, one with a set of fluid bags and IV, the other carrying  - and Bucky didn’t bother to keep from snorting – a chalice with a milky liquid sloshing inside.

“Ah, perfect.” Zola said to the men, taking the chalice as the others began to set up an IV and prepare a needle.  “We have adjusted the percentage of lysergic acid diethylamide in this batch, have we not?”   
  
The guard nodded curtly.  
  
“Good.  Now, Sergeant, we begin.  You either will be singing a different tune when we have completed, or you will have nothing to say at all.  Either way, you will teach Hydra much with your sacrifice.”  

Other men in a mix of crisp military officer uniforms and archaic robes began filtering into the room as one of the guards slid a needle into his arm.  It burned as the contents of the bag began to slowly filter into his bloodstream, and Bucky’s head swam, grey spots fighting to crowd out his vision.  
  
Two men seized Bucky by the head, forcing his mouth open after holding his nose and inciting another hacking spell.  As he took a gasp of air, the contents of the chalice were dumped into his mouth, filling it with a bitter, viscous liquid.  He tried to spit it out, but strong hands clamped over his mouth, closing his mouth and nose.  Before he knew what he was doing, he was swallowing, finally spluttering and gasping for much-needed air.  But by that point, his vision narrowed to a single pinpoint of light as the conversations in German seemed float above his head before twisting into a rhythmic chant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for the feedback, comments, kudos so far - this is a huge project for me and I'm only beginning to realize the ultimate scope of this story - but I'm really eager to get it down and share it :) 
> 
> Questions, comments, etc are certainly welcome!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning in this chapter for some disturbing hallucinated imagery.

“James Buchanan Barnes.  3-2-5-5-7-0-5-8.”

His blood was on fire, and he heard screaming reverberating around the room.  The glyphs joined and danced over the walls, filled with blue energy.  The heavy stone walls crowded around Bucky, leaning over him like doctors puzzling over a cadaver before melting into rivulets of chunky blood and viscera.  He could see the faces of the men who had been drug from the prison cells frozen in masks of fear and pain revealed in the eroding walls.  Their eyes were clouded but their bodies lurched, shambling towards him.  He struggled against the restraints, screaming out his name and serial number in a mantra to ward off the visions, but it was as useless as the prayers had been on the tongues of dying men in the foxholes.   
  
Suddenly they were upon him, grasping, clawed hands gripped him by the wrists and ankles, pulling him in four different directions before finally letting go, and he fell backwards down into a gaping hole.

 

“James Buchanan Barnes.  3-2-5-5-7-0-5-8.”

He was drowning.  His throat filling with the metallic tang of iron, and then bitter white mucous.  He couldn’t see, but he could feel that he was up to his neck in thick liquid.  But he wasn’t alone, things were moving in it, slithering past his legs, grabbing at his ankles, something sharp licked past his bicep, and then bored into his gut, seemingly fed by his burbling, liquid-filled screams.

He could feel it now, writhing and wriggling inside him, traveling upwards through his intestines like a snake through a hose, his body clenching and spasming around it. But the more he lashed, the more his body convulsed, the deeper it squirmed, working its way closer and closer to his heart.  And then with a sickening crunch and a shuddering thud, he could _feel_ it break apart– one had become many - and it was moving in dozens of directions flooding through his veins.  

 

“James Buchanan Barnes.  3-2-5-5-7-0-5-“

With a gasp, he broke the surface, his vision returning so quickly it hurt his eyes.

He longed for drowning.  It was hot, dry, and he was baking alive.  He was so thirsty.  His mouth stuffed with cotton and his throat sandpaper.  His vision was swimming and blue light was shifting around him like fire in an oven.  But his legs were still submerged, still caught in mire.  He struggled, trying to stoop down to drink, but his body wouldn’t bend.  His legs and arms were held fast and the relief was just beyond his reach.

A pig in glasses smiled with twisted, curling tusks as he plunged a sickle-hoofed hand into his chest.  

_PAIN_.  So much pain, his whole body seized in it.  More than the gut-snakes, more than the thirst and the drowning.  

He drug a bloody swath, punctuated with pinching gouges as he lashed, pulling against restraints until his wrists bled.  And then, snakes with fangs buried into his arms bit down harder.  His veins burned with acid once more and his vision went red and then black.

He was floating, weightless, drifting. 

And then, just as he felt like he was going to drift away like a cloud on the wind, ozone filled his nose and his body was a live wire.  His stomach lurched as he was pulled forcefully back down, his back slamming against hard stone.

 

“James Buchanan Barnes.  3-2-5-5-7-0-“  
  
The early morning sun cast its dim yellow-gray light through the threadbare curtains, illuminating dancing motes of dust as Bucky stirred lazily on the thin mattress.  His body felt heavy, sluggish, and somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew something was wrong, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.  He was home.  

He stretched, smiled, breathing in the familiar bouquet of smells that mixed sweat, trash, and gasoline, with hints of distant baking and yet somehow still was the best thing he could ever remember inhaling.  

The room shifted or he moved to see a slight form beside him, sound asleep, a mop of ruffled blonde hair the only thing visible from under the heavy blankets.  

The room was cold, but under the covers it was warm and toasty and all the threats of his foreman about losing his job couldn’t have convinced him to budge an inch right now.

A woman?  His mind summoned images of slender and impish girls twirling on the dance floor, giggling and tipsy in his arms and eyes that promised the fun of the evening wouldn’t end at the clubs.

No.  _Steve_.  His heart ached and he didn’t know why.  He felt so far away, and yet he was right there.  Right _here_.  
  
Bucky grinned, “Hey, pal.  Can’t sleep in forever.” He reached out to shake him, but when his hand should have clenched Steve’s bony shoulder, it closed on nothing but air, passing right through him.

Steve turned over, rubbing the sleep from his eyes as he sighed, staring forlornly right at him. “Wish I was with you, Buck.”

There was a wet cough, but Bucky couldn’t tell if it came from Steve or from him.  The whole apartment suddenly felt so cold, invading the blankets, stealing away more of his heat with each draw of breath until it felt like he was breathing in ice. 

“No… no you don’t Steve.” Bucky said earnestly, but each word felt like jagged sleet filling his lungs.  
  
“- Fighting by your side.”  He continued, as if he hadn’t heard Bucky speak, shuddering as another wracking cough shook his whole body – Bucky’s body – both of them.   
  
“You’re supposed to be safe.  Here in Brooklyn” His words fell on deaf ears, and only now Bucky saw how sallow Steve’s skin looked, crumpled, bloody tissues piled by his bed, and just how terribly, terribly thin Steve looked.  

“Make my life _worth_ something.”  Steve continued, but his voice sounded muffled and distant.  
  
He was losing him. Steve looked so sick, sicker than he’d ever seen him before, and he couldn’t stay here.  He wanted more than anything to stay right there, keep Steve warm, safe.  But now it felt more like he were watching Steve in a picture show, surrounded in darkness and cold and watching this patch of color and sound grow further away.  

“Don’t go!” Bucky shouted, “Steve! I’m sorry!” But even he couldn’t hear his own words as the darkness and cold swallowed them up as well.

 

“James Buchanan Barnes.  3-2-5-5-7-0-“  
_  
“ <-coming along?>”_

…  
  
_“ <-has made it pretty far.  Nearly lost him a few times.>”_

…  
  
_“ <I expect success from you.>”_

The blue light seared itself into his brain even with his eyelids squeezed shut.    It hurt to breathe, his chest and lungs ached, his wrists hurt, his ankles hurt, and it was like he could feel each slogging pulse of his heart and the way his blood dragged itself through his system as if it were molasses.  But worst of all was the raw, fresh pain on his chest.  His mind’s eye flashed the image of the pig-man carving with hoof-hands into his chest and Bucky twitched, groaning, and finally cracked open his eyes to try to see what was going on.

He immediately regretted it. 

Looming right before his eyes was a horrific skeletal visage.  The whole face – if it could be called that- seemed to have been drenched in blood.  Beady eyes set back into deep eye sockets bored into his soul. 

Bucky seized, jerking, and tried to avert his eyes but it felt as if his head were in a vice – he couldn’t move, could barely breathe. 

Somehow, the skeletal face frowned, <” _He’s waking up_.” >  
  
There was a rustle from somewhere his eyes couldn’t track, and then a fresh sting in his arm, his blood running hot, hot, hotter. 

The face above him leered and his vision swam, blue fire consuming everything he could see except for _that face_.  Long fangs descended from behind shriveled lips, and wicked horns curved outwards towards him.  Bucky tried to move, but his head was fixed, and he could only watch as the twin points nearly reached his eyes.

“ _You are coming along so nicely, Sergeant Barnes.”_ He whispered with a hissing voice. “ _Soon enough, you will join us.”_

Instinctually, Bucky lashed out, throwing a heavy punch straight for the grinning teeth. 

But at the moment of impact, the vision shattered into myriad pieces, shards of glass embedding in his hand as he watched the broken fragments – each with a skeletal grin or a triumphant beady eye - fall onto him like rain.    

A mirror.  A mirror.

But the voice didn’t stop.  Instead, it continued, undaunted, whispering in his mind, 

“ _I am already inside of you.”_  
  
Bucky’s heart was racing and it felt like his body was burning up from the inside; even his skin felt like it was on fire. 

_“You are one of us already.”_

Unthinkably, Bucky felt the most inappropriate stir of arousal.  

“ _Why fight this, Sergeant?  This is what you have always been, somewhere deep down, is it not?”_  
  
 

“James Buchanan Barnes.  3-2-5-5-7-“

A looming, tower of a man poised above him, insurmountable and unyielding.  

“ _It is time.”_ The voice whispered around him and slithered within him, pregnant with tenebrous excitement. 

He couldn’t focus, couldn’t pull together his thoughts to make sense of this figure with these words.  His body was only being held together with the finest of threads, threads which licked with fire.  

Then, a fresh pain – they weren’t threads – they were wires and he was alight with electricity, his whole being vibrating in agony.  
  
What was happening? Where was he?  

When would the pain stop?  Did it have an end?  A beginning? 

The moon hung above the mountain, sickle-shaped and gleaming wickedly.  Poised.  Poised to bite, to slice into the mountain itself.  

His heart hammered and he found himself waiting with bated breath – but he couldn’t comprehend why: if this would bring relief, or more torment. 

 

“James Buchanan Barnes.  3-2-5-5- … 3-2-5-5-“

Gold and blue.  

A heavy clink and chunk, a weight dropping from his arms and legs. 

The ever-present, crackling blue light still surged around him, but a shadow hung over him that seemed to change the hue into something wonderful and golden.  

A halo of golden light surrounded what resolved itself into a face.  The radiance cleared, revealing itself to be the same nefarious blue light converted into something brilliant as its hue was purified and shifted to gold when it backlit blonde hair.  

And the face – the face…

He was saying something, but his ears felt like they were full of water – he couldn’t make it out. 

“Steve…?” Bucky cracked.

A warm hand cradled the back of his head, and Bucky wanted so so _very_ much to hope. 

“Come on.” The voice – Steve’s voice, but it couldn’t possibly be him. 

It leaned over him so closely, it looked so real, but _everything_ had looked and felt so real.  Earnest blue eyes, that same nose with a bump from too many fights – running bloody like it was more often than not. 

“Steve-“

Drip.

Suddenly, a flare of pain so divine filled him, radiating from a warm wet spot on his chest before overflowing him, and caused him to gasp out with some combination of a prayer or a scream. His chest burned, it exploded with light and energy and a sense of wrongness and wholeness in some beautifully broken admixture.  He wanted it to go on forever, and he couldn’t bear it for one more second when it ceased as abruptly as it had begun. The electric blue screamed, fizzled and died, plunging the room into darkness.   

The pain was gone.  And Bucky was floating again, but upright this time, feeling the full weight of his body as this angel with Steve’s face whisked him away from the pain. 

  
He had known he was going to die; he was ready for it now.  
  
  
 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all to everyone along with me for this ride!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shifting to Steve's POV for this chapter.

 

_“There’s a Backroom in the factory.  They took him there almost a week ago.  No one’s ever come back from it.”_

The words haunted Steve as he jogged through the winding facility, refusing to give up hope.  He’d gotten this far, and he didn’t regret his decision for a moment.  He’d already found dozens if not hundreds of men imprisoned in the Hydra facility that now had a fighting chance to making it back.  And, if he were being honest, he had been desperate for an opportunity to prove himself useful beyond selling war bonds on stage like some kind of trained monkey.  He hadn’t come this far, risked this much, just to join the USO. 

But if it weren’t for Bucky, he never would have broken ranks, disobeyed direct orders, and come on this rescue mission.  He’d been dissatisfied, sure.  But he was a soldier.  He respected the military.  But when he heard the decision from Colonel Phillips, he couldn’t turn his back on the men stranded behind enemy lines.  He couldn’t let Bucky go.  If there were a chance, even the slimmest of chances he was still alive, it was worth it. 

And Steve still couldn’t help but marvel at how well his body responded to every thought: how it never seemed to tire regardless of how long or how fast he ran or how hard he pushed it.  A punch that would have done nothing but make a Brooklyn bully laugh now sent a trained Hydra soldier slamming back against a stone wall, to lie still. 

Even when he took a punch, the pain barely registered and did nothing to slow him down.  It was exhilarating, but as much as a part of him exalted in his new prowess that only today had really been put to the trial beyond one single footrace through Brooklyn and one Hydra agent, he couldn’t really savor it.  Not really.  Not when _Bucky_ was here – hopefully – somewhere.  In trouble. 

He just hoped he wasn’t too late.  
  
Signs in German pointed the way to the factory.  Huge chunks of raw stone were piled in the corner, and workbenches with carving tools and smaller stones lined the wall to the right– now abandoned as red lights flashed and alarm claxons rang. 

The other half of the room seemed to be some kind of munitions factory, but alongside typical gunpowder and packing materials were cells that glowed a bright blue.  

The door at the far end of the factory was simple enough to find, and Steve made sure to snatch a small glowing blue vial as he made his way across the massive room.

The pathway, however, was not without resistance.  Before he made it across the facility, a dozen guards interposed themselves between Steve and the door.

Never let it be said that Steve Rogers ever backed down from a fight.

He steadied the shield as he rushed the men, their shots echoing off of the metal barrier.  By the time they’d fired their first volley, Steve was on them, fighting as if he’d been born swinging – which, granted, might not have been too far from the truth.  

This may not have been a Brooklyn back alley, and Steve didn’t know just how far he could push this new body of his, but he never hesitated.  He plowed through the first several men who had formed a barricade, the makeshift shield proving to be not only an effective – well, shield - but also a halfway decent battering ram. .  And while they were fumbling to replace spent blue cartridges Steve started throwing fists and kicks.  Before half of them realized what hit them, they were laid out on the cold stone floor, unconscious.  

He turned, and one of them caught him in the face with the stock of his rifle.  A few months ago, that would have been it for Steve.  But now, he just grinned around the bloodied nose that didn’t even feel broken.  His heart pumped, adrenaline coursing through his system as he grabbed the rifle away from him, easily outmatching the soldier’s strength and returned the blow, laying him out.

The rest of the soldiers seemed to know they were outmatched, hesitating for a moment before scattering, leaving the door clear.

It was a massive thing – taller and wider than a typical interior door, but not large enough to drive a vehicle through.  It was heavy, reinforced, but when Steve put his back into it, it slowly ground open, hinges wailing in a screeching protest.  

The revolting smell and dark, torchlit hallway didn’t even give Steve a pause for thought, let alone slow his breakneck run as he heads towards the source of a flickering blue light and the sound of singing(?) voices at the end of the tunnel.  

_Please still be alive._ Steve silently prayed. _Please, God, if I was given this strength and can’t even save my best friend, then what good is it for?_

Steve burst out of the hallway and into a massive rotunda.  The lilting cadence of voices stopped the moment he barged in.  Steve hardly spared a moment’s attention to the intricate glyphs or glowing energy arcing along wires around the room that cast the room in pulsing light.  The scattering non-combat Hydra officers (wearing robes?) barely registered.  His focus was ensnared by the tableau at the center of the room: a short, squattish man with pinched features and round glasses stood at the head of a great stone table, a knife raised in one hand, blade poised facing his other hand that clutched a blue energy cell.  And on that table, bound spread-eagle… _Bucky_.  _It was him!_   

He could hear Bucky murmuring, delirious, “James Buchanan Barnes.  3-2-5-5-“.  Relief flooded Steve like    _He was alive.  Thank God._

He did the first thing that he could think of: he hurled the prop shield towards the bespectacled man’s knife-wielding hand.  The man let out a howl of pain, clutching his wounded hand as the knife fell, clattering loudly on the stone floor.   
  
Panic contorted his face as he looked up, shocked, to meet Steve’s eyes.  There was a flash of flabbergasted recognition followed by only a moment’s hesitation as he looked reluctantly down at Bucky’s prone figure before he snatched up a thick leather-bound book from a pedestal beside him and turned to run.

Steve didn’t even consider following the coward as he fled through a smaller door on the other side of the room.  

In a heartbeat, he crossed the room and was by Bucky’s side. 

“Bucky.” His name was on his lips before his relief ran cold as he laid eyes on his oldest friend: His pupils were blown wide and Bucky stared straight past him as he kept repeating his name and pieces of his serial number.  His skin was pale and slick with sweat.  His ribs protruded, his cheekbones stood out at sharp angles, and his lips were chapped and cracked. He was hooked up to an IV with a bag labeled a string of unfamiliar chemical names that Steve etched into his memory.  But worst of all was the sight of Bucky’s chest: intricate markings that looked like runes were etched along a complex geometric pattern were emblazoned across it in deep red.  The strobing light made it difficult to tell if the patterns were painted on or _carved_.  

“Oh my God.”

Steve shook his head, and gripped the heavy restraints; his new strength making short work of them as he pried the manacles open and tossed them aside.

Steve leaned over Bucky, trying to get him to focus “It’s me, it’s Steve.” 

Finally, thankfully, Bucky’s eyes cleared marginally and he focused on his face, his face rearranging into a fevered smile.  “Steve?”

“Come on,” Steve prompted, easing a hand tenderly against the back of his head just as a shuddering THOOM from somewhere deeper in the compound shook the room.  They needed to get out of here.  Fast. 

“Steve.“ Bucky repeated hoarsely, his face softening, hope slowly filtering into his eyes.  

Steve leaned closer, reaching around him to lift him from the table when another series of explosions racked the compound.  This time, the floor began to rattle and the ceiling bowed ominously.  Steve didn’t even notice as a drop of remnant blood ran down his already-healed nose, splattering onto the magic circle on Bucky’s chest. 

Suddenly, Bucky’s body went taut, his back arching as a gasping, primal cry tore from his throat. 

“Bucky!  Bucky!” Steve shouted plaintively, trying to hold him as his arms scrabbled to either side, yet his body remained board-stiff.  His body was fever-hot pressed against Steve, and he could feel his muscles spasming, his heart beating a frantic staccato.  The worst case scenario flashed through Steve’s mind: he had made it this far, just for injury or sickness or whatever the hell Hydra had done to him to kill him now.  

The reverberations of the latest series of explosions finally subsided as the generators sparked and died, the strobing blue light expiring with them.  

And finally, Bucky’s body seemed to unlock, going limp in Steve’s arms.  But even over the distant rumblings and sound of gunfire, Steve could hear a steady heartbeat and slow intake and exhale of breath.  

Steve didn’t have time to do a more thorough check-over.  He hefted Bucky over his shoulder, only distantly marveling at how small Bucky felt compared to the broad-shouldered man that stood head and shoulders over him in his mind’s eye.  

Scooping up his shield, he ran for the back door that the Hydra occultist had fled through.  

Kicking it open, Steve was assaulted by the source of the smell.  His face paled.  This was a charnel house.  Once, the original function of this section of the keep had probably served as the catacombs.  Now, fresh bodies had been shoved haphazardly alongside old bleached bones in alcoves set into the narrow, low-ceilinged tunnel.  More torches illuminated the grizzly spectacle that Steve really wished he hadn’t seen.  Pieces of allied uniforms from French, British and American soldiers barely covered twisted and bloody bodies, their visible faces bloated with ruptured skin.  In the flickering torchlight, Steve could see char marks on some of the forms, others crisscrossed with dark markings.  

Steve found himself relieved that Bucky was unconscious and didn’t have to see this, but it couldn’t stop him from thinking about what might have happened to Bucky if he had arrived even a few hours later. 

Steve spurred himself to keep moving, jogging down the hallway until he came to a set of stone stairs that led upwards towards a door that vibrated with the noise of battle and whoops and jeers in English.  However, recent footprints led away from the door, further down the hallway and towards a wooden interior door that hung slightly ajar. 

Steve set his jaw, looking down at Bucky.  He had what he came for and more.  Bucky, and the rest of the freed prisoners, were more important than pursuing the men in charge here.

He raced up the short flight of stairs and kicked open the door to be greeted with skirmishing allied soldiers routing the Hydra soldiers who hadn’t already fled.  

Steve grinned, jogging to join the troops when an unfamiliar engine roared to life behind him.  Steve spun in time to see a strange aircraft that looked like a rocket built into a propeller lift directly off of the facility before speeding North.

Bucky stirred in Steve’s arms, grunting, and then his breathing settled into a snore.  He wasn’t in a coma – he was asleep!  And all of a sudden, relief gave way for the reality of his success to wash over Steve.  The star peeking out from between the lapels of his jacket caught his eye.  Whether he liked it or not, this mission had made “Captain America” real.  The character, the _hero,_ that Steve Rogers had only played at being on stage was now alive.  

And as he looked out to the cheering men who had noticed his arrival, Steve felt more changed now than when he stepped out of the Vita-Ray chamber.


	5. Chapter 5

 

Bucky floated peacefully backwards, intermittent light and dark flashing against his closed eyelids.  He hummed to himself, taking in a breath of fresh air that only bore the memory of sweat and gunpowder.  

He opened his eyes to watch a blurry lattice of patchwork green and golden sunlight streaming above him.  It was so beautiful.  He always imagined heaven being clouds and cherubs, but this was pretty nice, too.  

But for being dead, his throat felt uncomfortably parched and his stomach distractingly hungry. And the angelic choirs sounded an awful lot like a military marching cadence.  Not to mention, this floating deal?  Awfully bumpy.  Figures, Bucky would make it to heaven floating along on the bumpiest… the bumpiest… he shifted his glance to the side and his eyebrows knit… cart?  Who the hell floated to heaven on a cart?  

He tried to sit up and – nope!  Nope that wasn’t happening.  His stomach twisted into a knot and Bucky rolled over, dry-heaving for a moment before he gave up and went slack, his vision filled with the wood grain patterns right in front of his nose, staring with rapt attention.  In fact, the more he stared at them the more they formed patterns that took on a life of their own like this was a picture screen.  He spotted little birds and horses that shifted and flickered and…

“Buck?” A warm hand pressed against his shoulders and Bucky looked to see-

“Steve?” He was hallucinating.  He _knew_ he was hallucinating, because Steve actually being here – wherever here was – was impossible.  Oh God.  Here was still the ritual room in the Hydra facility.

He jerked up, fighting back the crash of renewed nausea.  He had to get out of here.  

“Bucky!  Whoa! Hey!  Take it easy – it’s Okay! You’re safe!  Hey – Falsworth – hand me that canteen!”

Bucky pressed his back against the sharp corner of the cart bed as Steve effortlessly climbed up over the railing and… Bucky’s jaw went slack.  

He was huge.  Bigger than his cellmate Dugan, bigger even than Leroy Bateman – the tough guy with crooked teeth back at Basic.  He squeezed his eyes shut, making himself concentrate on the texture of the boards in the cart against his fingertips as he took a steadying breath, and opened his eyes again.

Nope – still hallucinating.  

“Here, Bucky – you need to drink some water,” the Steve-Illusion told him as he proffered a canteen. 

Cautiously, with a skeptical screw of his face, Bucky took it, eying him for a moment before taking a swig.  The water was clear, cold, and so sweet.  He meant to just taste it – make sure it was actually water – but before he knew it he had downed half of its contents, and his throat admittedly felt much better. 

“I’m so glad you’re all right, Buck. When I saw you back there, I- I thought you were dead.” 

“I thought you were smaller.” Bucky responded suspiciously. 

Steve took a breath, held it, and Bucky felt the first knot of distrust unwind as that sad smile that he would recognize anywhere settled onto the King-Size-Steve’s face.  “Yeah.  I know, Buck.  I still can’t get over it half the time when I look in the mirror, either.  But it’s really me.”

The trees passing by still twisted and danced like ballerinas in the mosaic sunlight.  Woodgrain animals winked at him from the boards.  And as he glanced out at the lines of men marching alongside the cart, some of them had vivid tracers of color washing off of them like streamers at the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade. 

“What happened to you?” Bucky found himself asking, keeping his eyes fixed on the passing scenery that looked more like the watercolors that the Steve he remembered painted than real trees.  

“I joined the army.”  And there it was: Steve’s smarmy, pleased-with-himself grin and glint of mischief in his eyes.

“You’re still a fucking punk.” Bucky muttered, but a smile was crawling back onto his face.  “Hope you’re proud of yourself, you ass.”  
  
Steve shrugged, but the unrepentant smirk stayed affixed to his face. 

Bucky allowed himself to take in Steve’s altered form.  He couldn’t be sure how much, if any, was real but it sure was a sight.  Even bedecked in a thick jacket, he could see how his broad shoulders more than filled out the leather getup, unbelievably even seeming to have torn out the shoulder joints: blue fabric peeked out of ripped seams.  And he’d be damned if it didn’t look like that jawline was carved of stone.  And his arms… Bucky felt a twist of something in his stomach.  Jealousy?  Anxiety? He didn’t feel sober enough to disentangle that right now.  “Did it hurt?”

Steve rolled his shoulders and his eyes slipped away from Bucky’s. “A little.”

He was also a fucking liar.  Bucky _knew_ that look in Steve’s eyes.  How many times had he shoved Bucky’s concerns aside as he went off to his job at the grocer’s with a sticky cough or when his back was acting up, saying he was fine?  If Steve actually admitted something was ‘a little painful’ it probably meant he felt like he was hit by a truck.  Bucky wondered – assuming his mind wasn’t completely fabricating Steve being here at all – if Steve would have even considered potential risks of turning himself into this- _this_?  

“Is it permanent?” 

“So far!” Steve answered too cheerily for the pounding that was building behind Bucky’s eyes.  He took another long swig of water.  

Bucky gestured to the star that seemed to be glimmering and shining on his chest and the bright blue helmet with a winking ‘A’,  “What’s with the getup?  That sure as hell isn’t regulation.  Who’re you supposed to be?”

“I’m Captain America!” A glimmer of pride shone through the cracks of Steve’s sheepishness. 

“Like the comic books?” Bucky arched an eyebrow.

“Yeah – exactly!  You see-“ Steve kept talking, but the words lilted and distorted in Bucky’s ears as if he were under water.  It didn’t matter.  Because that settled it.  Obviously, this was still a hallucination.  He was mixing up those propaganda comics they were sending out and wishful thinking about Steve and how bad he wanted to enlist.  Maybe, _maybe_ , he’d gotten out of the prison camp (he didn’t even want to consider the alternative), and maybe he was talking to someone, maybe it was even Steve, but this, _this_ couldn’t be real.  He was probably just talking to himself like a loon and was going to get himself discharged as soon as he got back to camp. 

Instead of staring at the mirage any longer, he looked down at his own chest.  At some point, someone had put a jacket over his shoulders, but his torso was still bare beneath.  His jaw set as he stared at the reminder of the torture he had undergone: the intricate design was still emblazoned across his chest.  It had been smeared, marred with dirt and grime, and hardly even recognizable as a coherent design, but he could still make out some of the sigils that were identical to some of the ones he had spent weeks carving into rocks.   
  
Gingerly, he dragged a finger through it, releasing a fresh bouquet of a scent he had grown all too familiar with lately: blood.  

 Absently, he noticed Steve’s voice trailing off.  

“I was worried when I saw that.” Steve’s voice pierced Bucky’s haze. “I thought it was carved, I - nevermind.  The lighting was bad back there, and after we got outside it turned out it was just painted on.  I thought about wiping it off, but we don’t have a lot of water to spare with so many men, and I wasn’t sure if-”

“No, it’s fine.” Bucky cut him off.  He remembered pain slicing into him where the pattern was, but his hand wiped over bloodied, but intact skin that didn’t have so much as a papercut.  But he remembered a lot of pain while he was drugged.  It must have been a dream.  Still… “I think I needed to see this.  Prove it happened, ya know?”  Bucky ran a hand through his hair, sending tingles of sensation running down his spine.  Still, right now, Bucky wasn’t entirely sure of anything.  “Camp’s got showers, anyway.  Though, I dunno if I want to leave this mess there till then.” 

“We should make it to base in another day, Buck.  You should get some more rest.”   
  
_Another day? How long had he been out??_ “I’m fine.  I can walk.  There’s men here actually hurt.”  Like hell if he was going to be carried back like some kinda invalid in front of all the men back at base. 

“But you only just woke up!  You’ve been out for-“  
  
“I said I’m fine!” Bucky snapped back, almost immediately regretting it. “Look, if you weren’t feelin’ good but you weren’t down for the count, even if it were flooding like something outta the Bible outside – I don’t think I coulda kept your ass in bed even if I tied you down.”

A frown tugged at Steve’s face, “Yeah, okay, Buck.”  

Bucky slid over the side of the cart, stumbling for only a moment before he got his footing and started obstinately marching with the rest of the troops.  

Steve followed after him, joining him by his side and -  Christ he was tall – gave him the most dopey smile before squeezing his shoulder.  It sure as hell _felt_ real. But then again, so had the feeling of having something carved into his chest. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m borrowing a fair chunk of canon dialog in these early chapters from CATFA, but there will certainly be deviation as well as this is, after all, a canon-divergent story and I’m going to be giving it my own spin (some of it happens in a different order, different scene, etc). Besides, it shouldn’t be too heavy-handed as most of this fic is going to take place during the war itself that gets skimmed over in CATFA.


	6. Chapter 6

  
All said and done, the hike could have been a lot worse.  At first, he barely registered the actual walking as his body felt pretty numb, his mind floating along separately as he marched.  He let himself exist in the _right then_ , the breeze against his face, the streaks of colors flitting at the corner of vision, or a particular weave of fabric on the back of the man’s shirt in front of him.  He knew it was thanks to the drugs in his system, but he didn’t mind losing himself to the cadence of the marching tune or the patterns of the shimmering trees in the sunlight and pointedly _not_ thinking about his recent experience.

He swore to God, though, it seemed like Steve was trying to get him to drink more water or scarf a ration bar every ten minutes.  So okay, maybe he was starting to get a better idea of why Steve got so pissy whenever Bucky got too “mother hen” when he had been sick.  Maybe this was revenge, he thought to himself with a smirk as he made a point of chewing through a leather-tough ration bar over-exaggeratingly open-mouthed for Steve’s viewing pleasure.  It earned him an eyeroll and an elbow to the side, but Steve also backed off on trying to force-feed him for at least the next five miles.  And okay, maybe he felt a little better and more solid with food in his system.

But as the hours passed and they drew closer and closer to camp and parts of the Italian countryside he actually began to recognize, the ground seemed to stabilize more beneath his feet and the trees began to look more like actual trees and not green and brown impressionist artwork.  _You happy, Steve?  I remembered that term._ And yet, somehow, Steve was still there right by his side, and still huge.  So maybe the drugs were still in his system, but the outright hallucinations had dwindled away, relegating themselves to phantom streaks of color or movement in his peripheral vision.  Which could only mean one of two things, right?  Either this whole thing was a hallucination and he was still strapped to the table back in Austria, or this was _real_ : Steve was here, turned into some kinda big palooka perfect soldier.  Bucky got the flash of an image in his mind of short, skinny Steve sticking his head through one of the muscle-man cut-away standees they had at Coney Island and couldn’t help but laugh to himself. 

“What’s so funny?” Steve asked, brows raised and face earnest. 

“You.  That dumb mug of yours plastered on that body.  It’s hilarious is what it is.”  

Steve scowled, but the upturn at the edge of his mouth gave away his mirth.  Guy couldn’t lie even with just his face to save his life. “Yeah, you think I’m funny looking, huh?”

“You’ve always been funny looking.  Now just your head’s on the proper level it makes it harder to miss.” Bucky shot right back with a smirk. 

“Never seemed to bother you before,” Steve baited.

“Yeah, cause you’re damn lucky that I have a soft spot for big nosed punks who don’t know when to keep their mouths shut.”

“Jerk.” Steve laughed, and Bucky breathed an internal sigh of relief as he saw the concern smooth away from the edges of his eyes.  Bucky knew he had given Steve plenty of cause to worry, and had been real quiet on the march.  But he could at least play like things were back to normal, and maybe if he wore that mask long enough, it would turn real. 

Just then, a whoop and chorus of hollers surged through their bedraggled battalion.  They’d made it.  Bucky let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

The whole battalion of troops from a dozen different regiments stood a little straighter, held their guns a little higher, and strode into camp behind Steve like they were on parade, complete with lines of cheering men on either side welcoming them back.  And damn if Bucky didn’t concede that it felt good.  

“Some of these men need medical attention.”  Steve started calling out directions as if he’d been born to do it.  And truth be told, that part was no different than when there were schoolyard skirmishes or Steve had it in his head the _right_ way to go about unloading a truck.  But unlike in Brooklyn, now men snapped to attention to start carrying out orders.  The way the men looked at him, it was like they finally saw the man that only Bucky seemed to have been able to see before.  Bucky felt his heart swell with pride, honestly happy for him.  Steve deserved this.  As much as he downplayed it, Steve always had a chip on his shoulder and something to prove, even if he was the best damn man Bucky had ever known.  Bucky never understood why dame after dame turned their nose up at Steve.  So maybe the types of ladies that he tried to set Steve up with didn’t always necessarily jive with the kind of girls who would have liked a sensitive, artsy type.  But it’s not like that was always the point of double-dating.  After all-

Bucky’s thoughts derailed as, speaking of dames, a brunette with the best figure Bucky had seen this side of the Atlantic strode up to Steve alongside Colonel Phillips.  She looked better wearing a proper uniform, bomber jacket and tie than even Mary Connor had in that slick little blue dress she’d worn when she’d finally agreed to go grab a soda with him.  But this dame, she carried herself with more authority than at least half the COs Bucky had come across.

“You’re late.”  It sure as hell looked like Steve wasn’t invisible to the ladies any more.  And why should he be?  Just look at him now: like he stepped outta the silver screen.  Her eyes fixed on Steve, canvassing him from top to bottom like she wanted to eat him with a spoon and was trying to figure out where to start.  Bucky _knew_ that look.  And he couldn’t help but wonder if this dame woulda even given him a passing glance before.  
  
“Couldn’t call my ride.” Steve sassed right back, holding up a broken communicator.  
  
The tension was palpable between them as she angled her body in invitation and Steve began to subconsciously mirror her.  Bucky was sure that they were about to lock lips right there in front of him, the 107 th, and Colonel Hardass Phillips himself.  
  
“Hey! Let’s hear it for Captain America!” Bucky found the words leaving his lips, not quite knowing why he was interrupting their moment.  What the hell was wrong with him?  The camp erupted into cheers and the tension shattered like glass. 

Colonel Phillips abided by the noise for thirty seconds, which was about 25 more seconds of patience than Bucky had ever seen the man grant, before cutting through the hoopla.  “All right, ladies, stop pissing around like we don’t have a war to win.  Get your asses back to work.  And as for you, Rogers-“

“I’d like to surrender myself for disciplinary action.” Steve cut him off.

Phillips scowled, sizing him up for an uncomfortably long pause before finally pronouncing, “That won’t be necessary. Now quit with those mooney eyes and report to command for a debriefing in fifteen.”

 “I’ll go with you.  There’s things I saw back there that the army’s gotta hear about.”

“Bucky, you need medical attention, too.  And don’t- don’t give me that look.  I know what you’re going to say.  Intel can wait.  Go get yourself checked out and THEN report for debriefing.” 

“Is that an order, Captain?” Bucky had to give him at least a little hell, even if okay, maybe he should see a medic.

“You’re damn right.” Steve grinned back.

And with a mock-salute, Bucky turned on his heel and sauntered off towards the tent with the big red cross emblazoned across the top. 

*

The medical tent was hot, overcrowded and understaffed.  Plenty of men who had more pressing injuries coming back for the Hydra prison camp required more immediate attention, and it wasn’t like Bucky could fault anyone for that.

He’d had a cute nurse come by to admit him, take some blood and clean him up when he got there, and well, that had almost made the three hours he’d been waiting since then worth it. She had neatly coifed blonde hair, a pert bottom, and blushed and giggled at his jokes.  Bucky flirted with her as long as he could until – Lisa, her name was Lisa, that’s right – had to see to other patients, promising she’d be back.

She hadn’t come back.  Though, in her defense, he might have nodded off for a lick since the next thing he knew the doctor was tapping him on the side.

Bucky jerked awake to see a ginger-haired field doctor with a frazzled, impatient look on his face and enough blood on his white surgeon uniform to already set Bucky on edge.  “It’s Sergeant Barnes isn’t it?” He asked, glancing down at a folder.  
  
And suddenly Bucky’s blood ran ice cold and his back was pressed against the cheap frame of the cot, his heart hammering a mile a minute.  Another voice, one with an accent belonging to a man with round-rimmed glasses, echoed those same words in his head.  He was still in the facility, he was still strapped to the table, he –

“Sergeant!” Fingers snapped and Bucky’s vision cleared, and he was back in the med tent, hyperventilating like someone with fucking battle fatigue.  Fuck, he wasn’t like that.  He was _fine_.  Fine.  He wasn’t _like_ those men who came back after the first war who had left an important piece of their heads back in Europe.  He was better than that.  He wasn’t weak; he wasn’t going to be like one of them. 

“Look, Sergeant, it’s been a long day.  I’m sorry; I saw in the notes in your file that there were some strong hallucinogens in your bloodstream.  Apparently one of the men coming back brought us a list of some of the chemicals used in your, ah, interrogation.  I can’t imagine what things might be looking like to you right now.”

Right. The drugs.  He could blame that. Bucky’s heart slowly settled out and he shifted on the cot.  “Yeah, sorry, Doc.”

The doctor eyed him critically for a moment, eyes flicking back and forth over the chart as he flipped a few pages, “I’m Doctor Edwin McCann.  You’ll have to excuse my appearance, but I’ve been a mite swamped with the number of men walking in here in the last few hours with severe injuries, gangrene, high fevers and an assortment of maladies I neither have the time to list nor you the interest in hearing.  I have men who are in critical need to ship out soon to a fully equipped hospital, and discharge papers to sign.  So-“ He snapped the file closed, “We’ll get on with it, now shall we?  

Bucky barely got a word in before a stethoscope was pressed against his chest and back, a light shone in his eyes, and a stick jammed in his ear.  As if that unceremonious inspection wasn’t enough, cold hands were soon palpating and pressing against his wrists, ribs, neck, and down his arms and legs.  He was asked to take deep breaths, cough, follow his finger with his eyes, touch his toes and asked if any of the prodding hurt as the doctor moved with clinical proficiency.  

“Well, physically, you seem to be in perfect health, aside from a little malnourishment and dehydration.” The doctor concluded, “But there are certainly still enough drugs in your system that I’m still noticing the reactionary symptoms.  I would expect side effects to persist for a few more days: you may catch glimpses of things that aren’t there, and likely experience some bad dreams.  I want you to drink a lot of water, get ample rest, and I am going to give you some charcoal tablets to take to help your system filter out the toxins.  No alcohol for at least a week.” He finished with a flourish of his pen on Bucky’s chart. 

Bucky nodded absently, not sure if he was happy with the pronouncement or not.  It felt like he should have borne some kind of mark from the torture.  Had he really just dreamed it all up?  Did they fuck him up that bad with just visions?  

Well, at least his cough was gone.

The doctor tapped his pen on the edge of the file for a moment.  “I’ll be frank with you, Sergeant.  I heard a few of the stories some of the other men told me about prisoners being tortured in another part of the facility.  I am certain that if you find your symptoms persisting,” and the doctor let those words hang for a moment as he met Bucky’s eyes significantly, “I could get you discharge papers put through.  Lord knows you boys have been through enough.  Come back and see me in a week; you’re on inactive duty until then anyway while your system clears itself and you recuperate.  Tell me then how you’re feeling.”

He could go home.  Bucky scrutinized the doctor.  Yeah, he read that right.  That was an offer.  He had a week to think about it, but he could see Becca, his mom, his dad…  But what kind of man would he be if he ran if there wasn’t anything wrong with him?  Nothing really wrong at least.  But still, probably 9 men out of ten who had seen the things he had woulda taken the first boat outta there given the chance of going home without being court marshaled.   
  
“Yeah.  Yeah I gotcha, doc.  I- Thanks.  I’ll see you again in a week and see how I’m feeling.  Hopefully the butterflies will stop telling me to eat the bedsheets by then.”

The doctor’s brows shot up.  
  
“Kidding.  Kidding, Doc.  I’m not peaches right now, but I’m not that bad off.” Not any more at least, “We’ll see how I’m doing then.”

By the time Bucky left the medical tent, the sun had gone down.  It was true, though.  He was doing miles and miles better than he had even since waking up during the march back.  The world around him was mostly stable, and there weren’t any sudden time jumps or scene shifts like when he was completely out of his head.  This was real.  He really had been rescued.  It felt like a thousand pound weight slid off of his shoulders as he headed towards the mess hall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bucky has some rather ableistic thoughts here about injuries and PTSD based on his upbringing in a time where it was viewed that only people of weak will got “Battle Fatigue” – an opinion that has undoubtedly been proven absolutely wrong.


	7. Chapter 7

Bucky never thought he’d be thankful for mess hall food.  There’d been plenty of times he and Steve had been hungry back in Brooklyn and had to make do with whatever was on the dime shelf that week: apples that had gone a little mealy or bread that was just on the sellable side of stale.  And of course, there’d been week-long stretches when they were trying to find a new way to prepare salted potatoes so they could still manage to get it down.  And yet, Bucky had yet to find a meal at the mess hall that didn’t taste like it was trying real hard to imitate food and yet falling just short.  He’d rather have day 4 potato salad, minus eggs of course, than the mess hall’s impression of chipped beef that somehow managed to barely dodge any kind of flavor.  So Bucky must’ve not realized just how damn hungry he’d been for a hot meal until he had put the first forkful of overcooked beans and ham in his mouth and it felt like the best damn thing he ever tasted.  The next thing he knew, his plate was empty and his body was ready for a long nap.  

Bucky was just starting to slog his way towards the barracks when a familiar-yet-still-jarringly- _not_ figure came bounding up to him like an overgrown puppy. “Hey, Buck!  There you are.”

“Steve.  Hey.” Bucky managed to reach down inside and fish out a smile from his pit of exhaustion.  

“Yeah, hey, so I was thinking: the base’s overcrowded right now with all the men from other battalions after the rescue.  And yet they still have me set up with my own tent cause of, well, you know.” He gestured awkwardly to himself and the glimpses of the USO costume.  “So I figured, that you really deserved a night’s rest in peace and not be stuffed into the barracks like a sardine.  So why don’t you bunk with me?  There’s plenty of room.”

“Wouldn’t you rather have that brunette bombshell in your tent instead’a me?” Bucky teased wryly.  
  
“Agent Carter?!  Bucky no – she’s not – it’s not like that.” Steve spluttered.  And it suddenly became incredibly easy to see the old Steve in there.

“It’s not?  Did you SEE the way she was lookin’ at you, pal?”

Steve shrugged, his face flushing crimson and glancing towards the command tent as if she could somehow overhear him from across the boisterous base.  “I dunno, Buck.  She’s a real classy dame.”

“You don’t gotta do me any favors, Steve. You already saved my ass.” Bucky gave one more line of half-assed protest.  A mostly private tent for the night and some time to spend with Steve now that he was pretty sure he was real was sounding damn nice.  Not to mention, he’d gotten word over supper that they’d scheduled his debriefing for the morning, and talking things out with Steve first sounded better than going in cold.  
  
“No, really.  You’d be the one doing me the favor, Buck.  I haven’t really seen you for the better part of a year and we’ve got a lot to catch up on.”  
  
“Yeah, allright, sure.  I’m gonna have to file to have my shit reissued anyway, since someone apparently jumped the gun and declared me KIA, so it’s not like I got an assigned bed right now.  There’s probably fistfights going on in there for top bunks, and, well, it just wouldn’t be fair to some poor sap to have to lose his spot to me.”

*  
Steve hadn’t told Bucky that he’d been granted an officer’s tent after they got back.  It was almost as big as their bedroom back in the tenement in Brooklyn.  There was a deluxe size cot, a rope that Steve had hung his uniform on, and even a writing desk and chair.

Bucky gave a low whistle, “You’re really putting on the Ritz here, huh?”

Steve shrugged self-consciously, “I don’t need all of this.  There’re plenty of good men who have seen a lot more combat than I have wedged into the barracks, but the Colonel wouldn’t hear it.”

“Come off it, Steve.  You’re a hero now.  Give it a few days and it’ll be in papers all across America: “Captain America Saves Hundreds in Daring One-Man Rescue”.  Trust me on this one.  You sure as hell look the part, too.  It’s no wonder you got that lady agent going gaga over you.”

“No, really, Buck.  Peggy – she’s not just a gorgeous dame.  She’s a good person.  Sharp as a tack and putting her all out there.  If it wasn’t for her, I don’t even know if they would’ve chosen me for Project Rebirth.”  
  
That shut Bucky up quick.  “She knew ya before all’a this?” Well.  He hadn’t expected that; maybe he was too quick to judge.  Good for Steve.  Really.  Still, Bucky hated the fact that a part of him clung to a mote of skepticism, like he was looking for a catch.  There was no good reason for this to be too good to be true.  Steve deserved to be happy more than any other fella Bucky could think of.  So maybe he was just being protective is all.  Looking out for his best guy, since even if he had all the muscle in the world now, it didn’t mean that he didn’t trust too easily and could get himself hurt in other ways. 

“Yeah.  She was there at Camp Lehigh after I was recruited.  I think she and Dr. Erskine were the only ones that believed in me.”

Bucky put on a wistful smile for Steve.  “Sounds like you got everything you ever wanted, Steve.” He said quietly.  

“All I ever wanted was to do my part.  They just gave me the means to do it.” Steve looked down as he spread his new hands. 

“Well, I guess I have you both to thank for getting my ass out of there.  I honestly don’t know how much longer I could have held on.” His voice was barely a whisper.  Here, in the lantern light with just him and Steve under the discrete flaps of the tent, Bucky finally admitted it out loud. 

“What happened back there?” Steve asked tentatively, “You don’t have to say if you’re not ready-“  
  
Bucky waved him off.  “I’m alright now.”  _Was he really?_ Dr. McCann’s offer still lingered in the back of Bucky’s mind.  But, Steve didn’t need to know about that.  Not yet; not until Bucky knew what decision he was going to make.  “You saw that room.  Someone in Hydra apparently read too many dimestore novels.  Truth be told, they pumped me full of drugs and had me seeing things that weren’t there is all.  That must be what that crackpot Zola was using to convince to Schmidt that his “experiments” were real.  If his prisoners went on about devils and pigs and giant snakes, then maybe he got the funding he needed.”  Bucky’s eyes lingered on Steve.  Some little whisper niggled at the back of Bucky’s mind: Skinny little Steve had somehow been turned into _that_.  It sure as hell seemed like magic, even if it might have been some kind of science like out of some pulp novel or comic.  If that was possible, what if Zola wasn’t completely off his rocker?  Now he was just being paranoid.  That was fucking ridiculous.  It didn’t matter, either way.  He was fine.

“Yeah, of course you’re right, Buck.  Hydra – they’re insane, and that makes them dangerous.  Schmidt was Erskine’s first experiment with the serum they used on me.  Erskine told me that it ‘amplified everything that is inside, so good becomes great; bad becomes worse.’  So Schmidt was already an egotistical Nazi with dangerous aspirations.  Now, he’s some kind of megalomaniac madman from what I’ve heard.”  Steve took a breath with a shake of his head, and Bucky couldn’t help but smile softly.  He knew why they picked Steve now.  He was always the best man Bucky ever knew, and he was glad that Erskine and Carter saw that too.  “Anyway.  You should share whatever intel you have with Colonel Phillips.”

“Already planning on it, pal.” Bucky grinned and slapped Steve on the shoulder to break the tension.

“Anyway, you should probably get some rest; I kept you up long enough. I could fit a week’s worth of clothes in those bags under your eyes.”

“So, smartass, where are you sleeping?” Bucky asked as he plopped down onto Steve’s cot.  

“Well,” Steve said, his hand scratching the back of his neck, “You know, the cot they gave me is bigger than regulation.  And it’s not like we didn’t share a bed sometimes in the winter when the heat was out, anyhow.”

Bucky felt like he should have argued more, for appearance if nothing else, but he was too goddamn tired. “Get over here, ya lunkhead.” Bucky grinned and scooted over.

Steve apparently didn’t need to be asked twice.  He stripped down to his undershirt and boxers and slipped in behind Bucky.  And damn.  Steve was a _lot_ bigger than he used to be, and lying next to him even on an oversized cot, there was barely enough room for the two of them. Steve’s massive arms wrapped around his shoulders, and he gave off more heat than a radiator.  But despite it all, hell, it _smelled_ like Steve.  It felt… nice.  Bucky, for the first time since he shipped off, felt like he was home again.  It felt better than nice, it felt _right._

*

It felt… _so good_.   
  
There were large, heavy hands on him, running over his chest and down his stomach.  

His back arched and a moan slipped from his lips as he pressed back against – _oh_.  That was nice.  Hard, hot and pressing against him.  He could feel it throbbing, and knew that he was the one responsible for how worked up they were.  And that really, really turned him on. 

_“You like this, don’t you?”_ A voice from behind him queried.  The familiarity of the voice teased at the back of his mind but he couldn’t suss it out right now.  It wasn’t important.  

“Mmmmhmmm,” Bucky was too caught up to do anything but hum his response.  He wanted those hands to slide lower, just a little lower.  

_“Of course you do.”_

They moved down, teasing at the hairs between his belly button and his groin.  His hips bucked up, but the hands pressed him back down, giving his thigh a slap of admonishment.  

_“So eager.”_ The voice chuckled.  _“You’d think you’d done this before._ ”

A hint of shame ghosted through his mind.  There should be something wrong with this, but the building heat of desire evaporated his doubt.

“ _Don’t worry about that._   _Tell me what you need.”_

  _“_ You,” Bucky murmured.  It was so hard to form words, but if he needed to talk to be touched, he found a way.  He was stubborn like that.  

There was a face next to his as he was pulled closer, and it resolved into a blonde with eyes as blue as summer skies, and a distinguished nose, bent from having been in too many fights.  “ _Me?  Am I who you want?  Your best friend?”_

Bucky gasped, his cock twitching at the sight and the thought of him.  It was like the answer had been lingering just out of sight his whole life.  “Yes!”

“ _How_ _Interesting.  And what is it you need from Steve?”_

It felt like it had been years since he’d gotten off and he could come with just a touch.  He was sure of it.  He just needed a little friction.  He just needed his hand.  Steve’s hand.  “Please.  Please touch me.”

 _“Good boy.”_ The hand wrapped around him, and he shivered in pleasure.  Ever so gently – frustratingly gently – it began to glide up and down his shaft, spreading his own precome over his length.  But it wasn’t enough.  

He was so close.  Just a little more.  Please.  He was swollen, leaking. He had never known desperation like this before. “Please.  Let me finish.” He hated how much of a whine there was in his voice.

 _“You think I’m going to let you get off that easy?”_ Steve mocked.  

*

Consciousness slowly filtered back to Bucky, his heart thrumming and cock pressed hard against his trousers.  He pressed back against the large, hot, solid form behind him, the arms wrapped securely around his chest.  He was so fucking horny, it felt like he could come with-  
  
_What the fuck?!  What the FUCK?!_    
  
Bucky disentangled himself from Steve’s drooling, snoring vice grip faster than Houdini and was out of the tent like a shot.  With shaking hands, he lit a cigarette and took a long, deep drag.  It was just a dream.  Just a dream.  He hadn’t had a dream like that since –

It was the drugs.  They were still in his system.  Dr. McCann said that he would be having weird dreams for a while.  

It was nothing to worry about.

Bucky crushed the butt under his heel and left to try to walk off his nerves… and his persistent erection.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all again for the continued comments and feedback! It is my lifeblood :3


	8. Chapter 8

  
The dimly lit bar, the pleasant numbing buzz in his head, and the burn of whisky down his throat might not have been what the doctor ordered, but it was exactly what Bucky Barnes needed.  He swirled the whisky around in his glass, watching the amber liquid slosh dangerously close to the lip.  It was his third in the last half hour, Dr. McCann’s instructions be damned.

Despite being off duty for the better part of a week, Bucky felt run ragged.  The debriefing had been long and arduous, and while Bucky was happy to share the information he’d gathered during his time in the Austria base, there were some sensitive issues he felt compelled to keep a little ambiguous.  Besides, it wasn’t like anything that happened to him after they started pumping him full of drugs, chemicals, and whatever the fuck else was even really reliable.  But even if it was all bullshit (which it probably was), if the wrong person even thought there was a chance Hydra had left some trace of experimental compound in him, it would mean a world of trouble for him.  He could be sent off to some lab somewhere for endless tests or worse.  And so what if he was being paranoid?  Maybe he deserved to indulge in a little paranoia, after all, he was held prisoner for months.  He was tortured, drugged, and he didn’t even know whatever the hell it was they were trying to do to him.  Bucky _knew_ how insane Zola and all the rest of them were, playing at being magicians.  He knew the sort of shit they were talking about was impossible.  But what if, just _what if_ something more permanent had been done to him beyond these lingering drug aftereffects?  Seeing the changes in Steve wouldn’t let him shake the idea that maybe it wasn’t impossible.  

Still, the Colonel ultimately seemed satisfied with what Bucky brought to the table: maps he’d spotted, conversations he’d overheard about troop and supply movement, other Hydra base locations, and even a bit of information about the blue-energy weapons they were constructing.  He should be relieved that it was over.  But the memories of his experience wouldn’t let him the fuck go.   
  
And as much of a relief that Dr. McCann’s point of being eligible for discharge should have been, it was just another added weight.  He’d be lying to himself if he said he didn’t want to go home, but did he really deserve it?  He’d gotten a clean bill of health.  All his problems were just in his head, and if he couldn’t deal with that then what the fuck kind of man did that make him?  How could he face his father showing up back in Brooklyn with – what? Battle fatigue?   
  
And on top of it all, he hadn’t exactly been sleeping well.  It was like playing fucking roulette each time he shut his eyes: was he going to be back in the Kreischberg Hydra base?  Maybe more nightmare imagery of hellfire and demons, pigs or something else new and disturbing.  Or, the dreams that Bucky was having the most difficulty dealing with, some kind of fucked up wet dream about Steve.  All of them stuck with him long after waking, crisp in his mind and impossible to exorcize.  Bucky was really fucking done with these damned side-effects.

Something prickled at the back of his neck, and then a chorus of cheers drew Bucky’s attention to the other end of the bar.  Steve had shown up and, of course, it was a round of toasts and back-slapping as Steve made his way over to the group of guys that had been his cellmates in the Hydra prison.  They were good men.  Hydra had been real deliberate about how they assigned the prisoners’ living arrangements.  Instead of just lumping people together based on when they were captured, they moved people around and went for the most disparate group of fellows as they could get in each overcrowded cell.  The more languages and races they could get into a room, the better.  And Bucky figured out why: in most of the cells, the prisoners turned on each other; they argued and scapegoated and fought more among themselves than back at Hydra.  But it had had the opposite effect with them.  They were smart and so they shared information and they didn’t let each other forget who the real enemy was.  Bucky stood up for Jones when one of the foremen tried to blame a faulty pulley on him in the workshop, and the men had covered for his illness as long as they could.  They’d all played smokescreen for Dernier when he was able to set a charge in the workroom to cause an “accident” that injured one of the foremen.  Bucky hadn’t had the chance to talk with them much since getting back, or maybe they were the ones keeping their distance.  Maybe none of them wanted to bring up the elephant in Hydra’s Backroom.  He was the only one who had ever come back out of it, after all; maybe it showed in his face more than he wanted to let it.  Or maybe he was just being too damn prickly sitting and drinking here by himself like a real wet blanket.  

He couldn’t help but overhear as Steve laid down a proposal.  Some idiot at the SSR had apparently given Steve, Mr. I-Don’t-Care-About-The-Odds, the authority to put together and lead some kind of Hydra task force. 

Fuck.  Of course he was going back in.  Bucky didn’t know why that hadn’t occurred to him sooner: Steve had wanted to be a soldier ever since his momma told him all about how his father died a hero in the Great War.  Like dying for your country was the noblest thing a fella could ever hope to do.  Steve had never had the chance to meet his father, but idolized him all the same, and who was going to tell a kid without a dad anything different?  But even as Steve got older, his determination never faded.  And when war broke out in Europe and there was a real damn good reason for the US to get involved, even Bucky was incensed right along with him.  
   
 And now Steve had proven that he was more than competent on the battlefield and was too useful to go back on the USO tour.  Hell, now he was a genuine war hero as well. But he didn’t _really_ know the horrors of what he was going to see out there, not yet.  

Bucky trusted Steve.  He trusted that he always did something because it was the right thing to do, even if it was more than he could handle alone.  Hell, half the time he was the one egging him on and pushing him to try something that, okay maybe he probably shouldn’t try.  But he’d also been there when it had been the two of them on six, and they’d gotten their asses pummeled.  And sure, Bucky didn’t regret it – because it was the right thing to do, but Hydra wasn’t going to stop when you were beaten and bloodied and figure you’d learned your lesson.  These soldiers looked at him like he was this invulnerable comic character come to life.  Like he couldn’t get in over his head and get himself and the rest of them all killed.  They knew Captain America, but they didn’t know Steve Rogers.  Someone needed to be a fucking voice of reason.  Someone needed to watch his six.  And Bucky knew better than he knew his own name that there was _no fucking way_ he was going to go home and leave Steve to face the war without him.  Never, over his dead body, would he let what happened to him happen to Steve.  And well, he thought resolutely, that was one decision made at least.  And Steve never had to know that he was given the option to go home. 

So when Steve got up and started heading his way, Bucky knew exactly where the conversation was heading.  He polished off his whisky, a resigned smile on his face when Steve took a seat next to him.

“So how ‘bout you, Buck? You ready to follow Captain America into the jaws of death?”  And there it was.  Damn him for being so fucking cavalier about it, like this was some kinda game.  And yet, Bucky wouldn’t have traded Steve’s innocence and joking grin for anything; this was the Steve he needed to protect.  

“Hell no,” Bucky let it hang in the air for just long enough to make Steve squirm, “That little guy from Brooklyn who was too dumb not to run away from a fight: I’m following him.”  Because wasn’t that the fucking truth?  His safety, his recklessness, the other fellas possibly not looking out for him, it all didn’t really matter a lick now that he was here looking at Steve sitting next to him.  Bucky knew would follow Steve anywhere.  

The smile spread across Steve’s face, and he shook his head with a huff.  “We’re really finally doing it, Buck: just like we talked about. We’re going off to war together.”  Steve looked so happy, as if he’d just won some kinda prize, and fuck if his smile wasn’t a little contagious.  

Bucky rolled his shoulders, “So what exactly are we gonna be doing?”

“We’re taking the fight straight to Hydra.  They may just be one rogue branch of the Nazis, but you’ve seen how dangerous they are.  Between the intel we brought back, we’ve been able to pinpoint where at least a half dozen of their bases are hidden.  And these energy weapons they have: they’re no joke.  I tried to bring back one of the small power cells, but apparently the thing was spent somehow or lost its charge by the time we made it back, so...” Steve shrugged, “Howard’s still taking a look at it to see if he can figure anything out to help us combat it.”

“So you really think I’m good enough for this elite unit you’re putting together?  Or are you just hauling my sorry ass along because we’re pals?”  Did Steve even really need him anymore?

Steve actually laughed, “Okay, jerk, you wanna fish for a compliment? Fine.  You and the guys – you have more insight on the inner workings on Hydra than just about anyone.  Even when you were captured, you kept your wits about you: Colonel Phillips had a lot of good things to say about the information you brought back, by the way.  Plus, you’re apparently the best damn sniper that ever came outta New York.  And I know you: you want a shot back at Hydra, too, right?”

“Yeah.  You’re damn right I do.” 

“Then the SSR is exactly the division you want to be in.    And hey, it wouldn’t even be the normal army.  You don’t even have to wear a standard issue uniform.”

“But you’re keeping the outfit, still, right?” Bucky asked with a leer as he glanced back at the advertisement for the USO Show.  Captain Fucking America decked up in red, white, and blue nylons.  He still couldn’t get over it: Steve Rogers a real comic book character sprung to life.  Sides, it just plain wasn’t fair that Bucky hadn’t had the shot to see him in full “uniform”.   
  
“You know what? It’s kinda grown on me.”

“Yeah, it must’ve grown on you, it’s virtually painted on!” Bucky laughed, and yet couldn’t quite shake that particular mental image.  The liquor and crowded bar was also apparently leaving him feeling a little hot under the collar, because thinking about Steve with those new muscles of his in that skintight getup couldn’t be what was making him feel sweaty and uncomfortable. 

Bucky had barely been paying attention to the boisterous singing in the background until it suddenly went quiet.  Bucky looked up, thankful for a timely distraction and half expecting to see the Colonel’s disapproving face; but his own throat went dry when he saw _her_.  Agent Peggy Carter strode into the bar in a red dress that clung to her curves almost as tightly as Steve’s Cap getup.  She was killer in her uniform, but dressed like that?  No wonder she snuffed the singing from the room like a candle.  Bucky was on his feet next to Steve before he’d even realized he’d stood up.  

They exchanged pleasantries, and maybe Bucky took the opportunity to check to see if the back of her dress was just as flattering as the front as she and Steve made eyes at each other.  And yeah, of course it was.  
  
“Howard has some new equipment for you to try.  Tomorrow morning?” Was that really all she’d come to this dive for?  Dressed like that?  
  
“Sounds good.” Steve nodded.  He wanted to say more; Bucky could see it tumbling in his head.  Bucky never got it.  Steve was no chicken: he could stand up to a guy three times his size, but when a little slip of a thing made eyes at him he suddenly forgot how to speak.  So maybe before he was tired of getting the kiss off instead’a the kiss, but now?  How was he still so shit with dames when it was so obvious to anyone who had eyes that all he had to do was ask?  
  
Peggy was waiting for it, too.  And when Steve suddenly came down with a serious case of the awkwards and couldn't speak for himself, she tried to break the tension for him. “I see your top squad is prepping for duty.” She commented wryly as the singing picked up again.  
  
Bucky's insides squirmed.  He was happy for Steve, he really was, but to watch him floundering like this was painful.  “You don’t like music?” He interjected.  
  
“I do actually. I might even, when this is all over, go dancing.”  Peggy opened that door even wider, and hell, if Steve wasn't going to take that, then he would.  After all, he'd been too caught up lately on those weird fucking dreams.  This was a gorgeous dame, and there was REALLY something wrong with him if he just ignored this chance.  
  
Besides, Steve spoke about Peggy like she was spun of gold, but Bucky barely knew her and Steve always saw the best in people.  How was he supposed to know if she really was good enough for him? “Then what are we waiting for?” Bucky summoned his slickest grin and let his eyes fill in the gaps between the lines.  
  
But Peggy never even took her eyes off of Steve.  “The right partner.” She answered crisply, and she couldn’t have spelled it out more clearly for Steve than had she taken her top off.  “0800, Captain.” She finished, baiting her line and turning to go.  
  
Bucky felt a weight in his stomach.  This should have been the best outcome.  She passed his ‘test’ with flying colors.  Or, maybe she could just see that there was still something wrong with him.  And apparently there was, because Bucky felt jealous.  Fuck.  That’s exactly what it was.  Was he really that shitty of a friend that he couldn't just be happy for Steve?  
  
"Yes, Ma'am, I'll be there." Steve found his voice only after Peggy had turned to go.  
  
Bucky side-eyed him.  “I’m invisible, I’m turning into you.  I’m stuck in a horrible dream.” He laced his voice with playful sarcasm, but if he didn’t know better, he’d think maybe he really was still hallucinating with how poorly that went and how much of an ass he was being.  There was something wrong with him, and maybe she could see it too, even if Steve couldn’t.  
  
“Don’t take it so hard, maybe she’s got a friend.”  Oh he was just eating this up. But at least Steve took it like the joke he tried to play it off as.  

“I should bust your chops for not going after her, pal.  She was sending you all the signals.”

Steve shook his head with a wry smirk, “Oh, yeah?  Is that why you tried to invite her to dance instead?”  
  
“I was just looking out for ya.  You talked her up so much, so I just had to make sure.  But it looks like she’s just got eyes for you, you lucky dog.”   
  
“Yeah, Buck…” Steve’s voice dropped lower and he squeezed his shoulder. “You don’t have to worry about me anymore.  I know you did; I know you stuck up for me.  I heard what people said.  I wasn’t stupid, and I was only half deaf.” He took a breath, and Bucky felt a clenching in his gut again as Steve leaned in closer.  “But Dr. Erskine told me the serum would fix everything wrong with me, and my asthma’s gone, my back doesn’t hurt any more, and I don’t get sick.  Even colors look brighter.  So you don’t have to worry.”  Steve stressed the last word and held Bucky’s eyes. 

Bucky chewed on his lip silently for a moment, reading between the lines.  He wasn’t saying… No, Steve wasn’t like that.  Didn’t matter what people accused him of.  Just cause he was little and an artist.  _It would figure, though,_ a creeping, uncomfortable thought bubbled to the surface:  _Having dreams like that, and now Steve talking about being all better._

Bucky pointedly ignored it.  They were just dreams and aftereffects: they’d be gone soon and he’d be back to normal.  He was going off to war – again, but this time, with Steve by his side.  “Well did this wonder serum fix your inability to dance, big shot?  You don’t want to let Agent Carter down.”

Steve’s whole face lit up when he laughed.  “Let’s worry about the war first, Buck.  Then I’ll worry about learning to dance.”  
  
 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to clarify (since there were some understandable concerns) that there is a lot of unreliable narrator/misconceptions about sexuality with Steve and Bucky through this story. Steve was and still is bisexual, but doesn’t have a firm understanding of what exactly that means. As far as Steve knows, he's been "cured" because suddenly women are interested in him and he's found a woman he really is growing to love. At this point in time, there was a big issue of perception when it comes to sexuality and hardly any understanding at all of bisexuality. Both of them thought that since any sexual thought was sinful, that thinking about someone of the same sex wasn’t any more or less a sin – so it might be something everyone did. It was your actions that spoke louder than words.  
> Bucky also had and has an interest in men and women, but only acted on his interest in women previously. As he’s changing, it’s not his sexuality that’s changing, but a new biological need in him is awakening that can only be fulfilled in a particular way. If you’re hungry, all the water in the world won’t help.


	9. Chapter 9

  
“… So I said to him ‘Fine.  I’ll buy it, but YOU gotta find a way to get it home.’  And to this day, I STILL don’t know how the hell Steve managed to haul that three foot radio cabinet back to our second story walk up.”  
  
“Man, Barnes, remind me to never make a bet with the Cap.” Morita grinned as he tuned the frequency of the field radio transmitter.

“I know, right? And that’s when he was 100 pounds soaking wet.  He was a stubborn sunnova bitch then, and I guaren-fucking-tee it that that stubbornness grew with him.  But I’ll tell ya what, we got crystal clear broadcastings of _The Shadow_ every Mondays and Wednesdays!”

“Hold that thought: I’ve got a signal.” 

Bucky fell silent, giving his Stark-upgraded Johnson rifle a final check-over.  The past couple of weeks had been a whirlwind of paperwork, briefings, strategizing and equipping, although that last bit had been a dream come true.  Having gone from standard army issue and not a lick more, to next to nothing as a POW, to suddenly being in one of the best-funded elite units in the whole goddamn war was head-spinning. Howard Stark himself, the same guy Bucky had virtually thrown elbows through a crowd to get a glimpse of at the Stark Expo, had personally designed most of the gear that they carried with them, including Steve’s spiffy new uniform and shiny new shield supposedly made out of the rarest metal in the world.  

He even got to pick out his own duds.  First thing he did was make sure he had a fucking warm coat.  He was sick of the winter, sick of the biting winds and cold mud that chewed him through to the bone.  And the dark blue peacoat with a few tricks sewn into the linings cut a sharp profile and went further than warm food and hot shower had in making him feel human again.  Even he bought the confident smile on the young man that he saw decked out in the mirror.  He didn’t give a damn that Dum Dum Dugan gave him hell for designing his own duds and not repping the army.  Man just knew he couldn’t live up to his sense of style.  Sides, like a bowler hat was regulation anyway.   And all of them had adopted the wing design from the side of Steve’s helmet as the logo of their ragtag unit, now “The Howling Commandos.” 

Because all said and done, getting back out in the field turned out to be exactly what Bucky had needed.  Being on duty with a small team of good men had made a world of difference: no multi-hour hikes lost in a massive battalion of men and repetitive marching songs instead of conversation, no more lying in wait for days in a foxhole, alternating between mind-numbing boredom and panic with no in-between.  With their small unit, he felt like a person, not just a number, and it felt like they could actually make a tangible difference out there.  Now, he had a purpose, he had the opportunity to get back at Hydra, and he had Steve by his side.  It was almost what he had imagined going to war would be like before he actually shipped out.  He felt right in his element and clear headed; whatever drugs had been lingering in his system must have finally filtered out.  

They’d had a few skirmishes on the way here, a dozen miles into enemy territory, but this was their first planned and organized operation.  However, the plan was solid, and Bucky had to hand it to Steve: the men he hand-picked were good and had a varied skillset between them.  They were assholes, every one of them, and after only a few weeks, Bucky trusted them like family.

“All right, we’re a go, Sarge.  Take position and I’ll signal the others.” Bucky pulled himself out of his head as Morita began tapping out a signal that would wire directly to receivers that Steve and Falsworth were wearing.  Thank you, Mr. Stark.  
  
Bucky lay his rifle across the convenient cluster of rocks he and Morita had set up behind, and in moments he had eyes on the two groups as they advanced on the Hydra weapons bunker.  They’d already taken out the roaming guards that had been patrolling the site quietly and effectively, and unlike their Stark-equipped unit, these squid-nazis didn’t have any way to communicate with their men inside.  Their window to attack was small before the next shift of guards was due, but they were on schedule. Steve led Jones and Dernier where they set charges near the door while Falsworth and Dugan had set up a second ambush point.  

Out of his periphery, Bucky watched Morita count down from five on his fingers as he tapped out in morse code across the line in time with the other.  At 1, the charge blew, sending the doors on the bunker flying, and moments later, Hydra troops came pouring out of the compound.  Any lingering doubts Bucky had about being able to get his head back into the game again disappeared with his first shot that took out a heavily-armored man approaching Steve from behind.  His hands were steady as stones and his breathing stilled as he lined up each shot.  

It was just like shooting fish in a barrel.

The new rifle scope Howard had fixed him up with might as well be the eighth wonder of the world as far as Bucky was concerned.  He had always been a good shot, and his head for numbers had put him ahead of even most of the other snipers out on the field.  But apparently between the accuracy of the new rifle and scientific magnification of the eyepiece, Bucky was making shots he would have only dreamed of making a few months ago.  It almost felt like it gave him a sixth sense on the battlefield. 

And Steve, to his credit, was a fucking natural out there.  He didn’t stop moving once the battle commenced.  He had learned a thing or two about how to throw a punch, and he was using the shield the way God and Howard Stark intended: drawing fire towards the bright star-shaped bullseye instead of his head.  Gabe was as competent in the field as he had been in the firing range, which said something about the man working under pressure, and Dernier’s pre-staged explosive charges worked like a charm, funneling the men it didn’t stop towards where Dugan and Falsworth were waiting for them.  Bucky did his job, and damn well thank you very much, but his eye occasionally strayed back to where Steve was fighting.  The way he moved: with confidence and prowess unlike anything Bucky had ever seen before, and that infuriating smile on his face as he punched – Bucky changed the angle of his rifle between heartbeats and picked off a Hydra goon that thought he was clever trying to get around some rocks.    

The battle was over almost before it began.  They had successfully pulled a surprise attack, and Steve showing up all Captain America in red, white, and blue struck an obvious blow to Hydra’s morale.  Bucky didn’t miss the expressions of recognition and fear when some of the Hydra soldiers saw Steve.  Maybe playing the part of a comic character actually had a use. 

Bucky kept watch through the scope of his rifle for a good thirty minutes as the others secured prisoners and recovered armaments from the facility to make sure that no one had slipped the perimeter and none of the prisoners were going to try something stupid.  While Morita was radioing in a report, Bucky, satisfied the area was clear, joined up with the rest of the Howlies.

Steve beamed a smile as he approached, “Good shooting, soldier.” 

Bucky didn’t even bother to hide his self-satisfied grin.  “What’d ya expect, Sister Margeret out there?  I told you I’m the best damn sniper in the army, or you just think I was blowing smoke out of my ass?”

“And he’s humble, too!  Watch out, ladies, it’s a full package here.” 

“Damn straight it’s a full package.  Been on the road with you boys for weeks and have barely had a lick of time to myself.  My package is really fucking full.” 

“Ohhhhh, Buck!” Steve groaned, and he heard Dugan bark a laugh as he rounded the jeep they were loading up.

“We’re back to base in France after this, Barnes.  Think ya can keep it in your pants till then?”

“For you, Dum Dum?  I’ll manage somehow.”

Steve shook his head, but the wry smile playing at his lips gave away the mock disapproval Steve was struggling to maintain.  “Help get these crates loaded up, Corporal Dugan.  Buck- Sergeant Barnes, think you can make yourself useful doing something other than shooting off your gun or your mouth?”

“Yeah yeah, everyone's a critic.”

Bucky took the opportunity to do one more pass through the bunker.  The men had already done a good job of clearing out guns, canisters, and even apparently a few of the energy weapons and power cells and were loading them onto the transport, and the shelves inside were mostly bare.  

Bucky hesitated for a moment, his mouth dry as he stared at what he knew had probably just been passed over as a pile of rocks in a darker corner.  The texture, though, it caught his eye almost immediately.  It was out of place even back in Austria when he spent weeks carving glyphs into it.  He nudged one with his foot, watching as it turned to reveal a cracked and weathered glyph.  The acrid smell was in his nose, the flickering blue light stung his eyes, and he could hear unintelligible chanting.  He was stuck; he couldn’t move his wrists-  
  
“All clear in there, Barnes?  Dernier’s got an itchy trigger finger to blow the charges and send this outpost back to hell.”  Gabe called in after Bucky, snapping him out of it.  

He swallowed, looking around the bunker.  No blue light, no restraints.  It was just a memory; he was safe.  “Yeah, nothing else worth recovering.” He gave the rock a vengeful kick and turned to leave.  

  
  
 


	10. Chapter 10

By the time the Howling Commandos reached the base camp in Tarbes, France, Bucky Barnes considered himself a fucking expert in French thanks to Dernier and Jones’s constant chatter.  Or at least fluent enough to know how to say a dozen different dirty expressions - which Bucky fully intended on putting to good use.  Despite how exhausted he was after the mission, he was feeling itchy under his skin: restless and pent up.  

But reaching Tarbes was the good kind of exhausted, and it was going to be a well-earned respite if Bucky had any say in the matter.  He was glad, _proud_ , to have made the decision to stay on and fight by Steve’s side, and he couldn’t have picked better men to be working with.  Still, as much as Bucky was fucking thrilled to be reaching a camp full of friendly faces, he wasn’t prepared for the reception.  It felt like the return to the 107th base all over again, because apparently news had preceded their arrival this time.  The moment they were within sight, they were rushed with American and French soldiers alike who were eager to get a glimpse of Captain America himself. 

They were engulfed in a swarm of bodies waving copies of the comics or posters or post cards for Steve to sign. And Steve, bless his heart, was too damn polite to tell them that he just wanted to get off the road and get some rest like a normal fucking human being.  But they didn’t see him like that.  He wasn’t little Stevie in Brooklyn anymore who could barely get someone to pay him any mind unless he was spoiling for a fight, but he also wasn’t the dancing USO tights-wearing mascot that got ridiculed when he performed in front of real soldiers.  Word had spread, newspapers had been published just like Bucky predicted, and Steve had even been awarded the medal of valor.  People paid attention to that shit, and now he boosted the morale of the Allied troops and set Hydra goons quaking in their boots when they saw him coming.  There was a reason they dressed him up in red, white and blue and called him ‘Captain America’: they were painting him as America made human, and a guy could get lost in that.  Already he was standing taller, putting on his Cap voice, and getting into character for them.  The men here flocking like seagulls for an autograph probably didn’t even know his real name.  Bucky just hoped Steve didn’t forget either.  No, Bucky wouldn’t _let_ him forget who he was or where he came from, because nothing was important enough to let Steve lose himself and be overwritten by this larger-than-life persona.

“You can tell them to bug you later, ya know. You _just_ got here.  I’m sure they’d understand.” Bucky prodded, knowing Steve would hear him with his new souped-up hearing.

Sure enough, Steve turned, brows raised in surprise. “Buck!  Don’t you want to sign some letters to their gals back home, too?”  
  
“Nah, I’m good,” He answered with a chuckle and a wave, “I think I’d offend more of them than I’d impress right now, at least until I’ve hit the showers, but I’ll catch up with you later.” 

“C’mon, Buck.  We all stink; I don’t think they care.  Besides, you’re Bucky Barnes: best sniper in the military, Howling Commando, and Captain America’s right hand man!” Steve grinned like a kid, and it really was a little endearing. 

“Just.” Bucky took a breath, not wanting to piss on his parade, but he couldn’t leave without at least saying _something_ , “Don’t let all this go to your head, Stevie. Don’t forget: Captain America’s just a mask, you’re the real hero.”

Steve’s brows furrowed as he watched Bucky go.

*

Bucky was no more than halfway to the showers when _she_ rounded the corner, heading towards the commotion.  He didn’t know why he should be surprised; this was the rendezvous point post-mission after all and he already knew that Colonel Phillips was meeting them, so of course she’d be here, too.

“Mademoiselle,” he greeted with a sweeping gesture. 

“Sergeant Barnes,” Peggy responded with a coy smile, “I’m glad to hear that you’ve apparently learned some French, or is that the extent of your education?”

“Naw, I know loads more than that, but most if it isn’t suited for polite company.  Dernier’s a good teacher, but not the most subtle of conversationalists.”

“I suppose I should be thankful that the explosives he’s teaching you to create are verbal rather than chemical.  Although you might find yourself winding up just as singed if you choose to try what he’s taught you on the women here.”

“And here Dernier said that the French resistance fighters had some real bearcats in their numbers.” 

“Indeed, but keep in mind that these ‘bearcats’ possess sharp claws.  They are quite familiar with the so-called wit of American soldiers, and how to deal with them.” Peggy countered without missing a beat. 

“Sounds like the British aren’t the only ones who are makin’ some real explosive bombshells, then.  Now, I know not everyone can be as lucky as Steve, but I’ll be damned if I’m not going to at least take a shot at a ginchy gal, too, if I see the chance.” 

“I’ll choose to take that as the compliment it was likely intended to be, but that seems to be your trouble, Sergeant: a woman can distinguish between a man with his heart on the line and a boy feeding her one.”  
  
“Allright, allright, you got me Pegged.” He grinned unabashedly at his own pun.

“I must commend you, however.  All of you did some fine work out there.  There will be a formal debriefing later, as I was on my way to tell Captain Rogers, but the SSR is quite pleased with the work that your Howling Commandos unit performed.  I don’t imagine you will have a lot of time to sow your oats here before you’re sent out on a new deployment.  It is fortunate we were able to rendezvous here, however, as I am also shipping out for my own assignment.”

“You’re going out in the field, too?” Bucky blinked, “I thought – you know – you mostly did the administrative stuff.”

“You must be thinking of Colonel Phillips.  Although, I can understand your confusion: we do look quite a bit alike do we not?  But no, Sergeant Barnes.  Not everything can be solved with guns and explosions, I’m afraid.” She said with a glance at Bucky’s sidearm, “Sometimes a mission requires more subtlety.  This war will be won with information as much as gunfire.”

“Yeah, but information alone doesn’t get anything done.  You gotta act on it.” Bucky persisted.

Peggy hummed with a note of mischief, “Oh I never said that there wasn’t a time and place for firearms.  Do remind me to share the story with you about how I liberated Dr. Erskine from the Red Skull’s employ some time.” 

Okay, color him impressed.  Bucky had to admit he could see what Steve saw in her: she was minxy as a fox and twice as clever.  Bucky took a breath and dropped the sarcasm for a rare moment. “Steve’ll be happy to see you, though, Agent Carter.”

He was rewarded with a more genuine smile, “I’m certain he will.  Although I would advise you to avoid making presumptions, Mr. Barnes.  If Captain Rogers has intentions, I expect him to deliver them himself.”

Bucky chuckled, “Yes, ma’am.”  She might be stuck waiting for quite some time if she was expecting Steve to make the first move.  Bucky was going to have to light a fire under his ass, because he sure as hell never met a dame quite like Peggy before.  

 “Although, if his odor is half as offensive as yours, I might suggest we postpone the debriefing until tomorrow.”

“I can take a hint.  Matter of fact, I was already on my way to get washed up.”

*  
Bucky must have lost ten pounds worth of sweat, grime, and dirt in the shower. He felt his body relaxing under the flow of water and a tension that he didn’t even realize he was carrying begin to ease.  For the first few minutes, he just cleared his mind, letting the water carry away his concerns and worries along with the weeks worth of filth.  But his silent reverie could only last so long before the clamor of a half dozen other men stomping across the wooden plank floors pulled him back to reality.  

“…so I got him to sign a comic to send back to my kid.”

“Yeah? Ain’t he two?”  
  
“Well, yeah, but for when he’s older.”

“I heard that he single-handedly took out a whole Hydra regiment with just that shield of his.”  
  
“I think you read that in a comic, Williams.”

“No – really!  It was in the papers!”

“Sure, the funny papers.”

Bucky rolled his eyes with a silent chuff.  He was a little thankful that he was out of uniform and they obviously either hadn’t noticed or recognized him.  Bucky idly wondered if Steve would ever be able to use the communal showers again.  Talk about problems neither of them ever expected to have to deal with!  He risked a surreptitious glance over at the cluster of soldiers, but his eyes didn’t slide back to the ply board shower wall afterwards like they should have.  Instead, they caught and lingered on the bare shoulders, trim waists, and firm asses.  He swallowed hard.  Despite the cool water spluttering down from the showerhead, Bucky started to feel warm.  And fuck, because the cold water wasn’t even helping keep his cock from starting to harden between his legs.  
  
_No no no no no.  What the fuck, Barnes.  Get your shit together.  These_ fellas are going to look over here any minute and see Bucky fucking Barnes with a hard on staring at them.  The hell is wrong with you?!  
  
He wrested his eyes back to the wall, but the image was burned into his mind’s eye: a half dozen naked men, wet and lathered up with soap and fuck if his cock wasn’t already aching.  It was like the fucking dreams, only he was very, very awake.

He was just pent up.  That was all.  Really, _really_ pent up if _this_ was doing it for him. 

Without a word or another glance back, he shut off the water to his spigot, grabbed his clothes, and beelined it to the exit.  

He needed some fucking privacy. 

*  
It didn’t take Bucky too long to find the camp’s unofficial “whack shack”.  Or, in the case of this base, a few extra planks of wood that had been leaned against a copse of trees as a makeshift privacy screen about a fifty yards from the camp proper.  

After a brief check to make sure it wasn’t currently occupied, Bucky put his back against a tree and worked open the buttons of his fly. 

_God, yes_ , he thought as worked his cock out and took it in his hand, giving it a few preliminary strokes.  He was so hard up he was already leaking a few beads of precome.  He swiped his thumb over the slit, spreading it down the shaft and _oh fuck yes that was amazing_. 

Biting his lip and letting the tree support his weight as he backed into it, Bucky slid his eyes closed and summoned a scenario to get lost in as his hand continued to slowly work up and down his length. 

_He was back home in their apartment, and Mary Connor was stepping out of that cute blue dress, leaving it crumpled on the living room floor.  All the shyness was gone from her face as she stepped forward, naked as a jaybird, putting a hand against his cheek and pulling him in for a kiss.  Another hand went to the front of his pants, stroking him through the fabric._

No… __  
  
She was straddling him, moaning as her small breasts bounced in time to his thrusts.   
  
Bucky’s dick ached, his hand slicking up and down, but he just wasn’t getting into it, and he was getting more frustration than satisfaction.  
  
_He was in a smoky bar in Italy across from a woman with crayon-red lips and dark hair that bounced in tight curls over her shoulders.  Bucky only caught one word in four, but she laughed at all his jokes and green eyes flashed in invitation as he took her upstairs and laid her down on a velvet duvet.  She was naked and so was he, and she had tits like cantaloupes and hips that he could dig his fingers into.  She moaned like a whore as he buried into her, and she was so tight around him-_

Bucky tightened his grip with an irritated grunt, pulling at himself harder and faster.  And oh did it feel fucking good, and he needed it like water, but it felt like he was trying to jerk it with his ma watching.  
  
Fuck these scenarios.  Bucky squeezed his eyes tighter closed and just _felt_.  

He drummed his fingers up the bottom of his shaft, stroking along the top with his thumb, then led from the wrist and got into a smooth rhythm again.  Every few passes he swiped a thumb across the slit, spreading more of his beading precome.

And yes.  Just yes.  Hands on his cock, his hips bucking every so often as he started to ramp back up again.  He could feel his heart picking up pace and the soft moan of his own voice.  
  
_Maybe they weren’t his hands.  Maybe someone else was helping him out._ Doesn’t matter who, just another hand on his cock, moving along just the way he liked it.  They knew exactly how he wanted to be touched with the perfect amount of pressure.   
  
And yeah, yeah that was good.  
  
Confident hands were on him, one on his cock jerking him just right, another pressed against his chest, teasing at his nipple before moving around back behind him.  His body was hard, firm, like the tree trunk behind him, pressing back against him and keeping him pinned. His lips ghosted by his ear, hot breath against his neck as Steve’s voice asked, “Do you want me to fuck you, Bucky?”  

“Steve-“

Bucky came suddenly with a gasp; his whole body shuddered in intense orgasm before his dick began to soften in his hand and he could think straight again.  

Fuck.  __  
  
He wasn’t even asleep.  There was no way that now, almost a month later, there were still any fucking drugs in him.

He just – he just had been away too long.  Way too fucking long.  He needed to go out, go dancing, find a nice girl and get his head screwed back on right.  The Howlies had talked about going out tonight and he’d go with them.

  
Bucky stuffed himself irritably back into his trousers and stalked off towards  
the tents.  
  
 


	11. Chapter 11

  
Bucky was nearly ready to go out, having donned his formal service uniform and dug a tin of pomade out of his duffle, when he remembered that he never had the chance to replace his mirror after Azzano.  It hadn’t exactly been important to him after getting back to Italy, and it was even less of an issue when he was out in the field. 

Bucky had mentally flagged a small mirror sitting out on the writing desk when he’d walked in earlier, and was heading over to use it to help slick up his hair when he noticed that the mirror was just one of an assortment of items that had apparently been pulled out of Steve’s bag and strewn over the desk.  Because apparently the top bunk that that asshole had already claimed before Bucky got to their tent wasn’t enough space for his shit.  But as Bucky went to pick up the mirror, an open journal caught his eye.  

Even changed, even with a new subject like the sketches of Peggy that filled the open pages, Steve’s art style looked exactly the same as Bucky remembered.  Each face was lovingly rendered, depicting the woman with a variety of expressions: one catching her fiery and defiant personality to a tee, a second with an impish smile and shine in her eyes, and yet another affording Bucky a glimpse of earnest seriousness that she certainly hadn’t worn around him before.  Of course, they were amazing artistically, but it was more than that.  Steve might not always be the best when it came to talking to or about someone he liked, but Steve’s pictures were certainly worth a thousand words.  There was a tenderness and an intimacy to the artwork that said more about Steve than the woman he was drawing over and over.  Each pencil stroke, each smudge of shading, and the way he knew her personality well enough to capture it on paper spoke volumes about the love and respect he had for Peggy Carter.  

He was just going to turn the page, even though he was certain that he would just reveal page after page of more renditions of Peggy Carter, when the tent flap rustled behind him and Bucky let go of the paper as if it were a red hot poker.  

“Hey, Buck.” Steve greeted, pausing as he took in Bucky’s attire.  “You going out?”

“Yeah, it’s been too long since we’ve been in a real town without worrying about getting stabbed or shot.”  
  
“Well, yeah, but tonight?  We just got back, aren’t you too tired for that?”  Was he disappointed?  Bucky almost hesitated.  It wasn’t like they got a lot of chance to talk privately on the road.  But Bucky pushed those thoughts aside; it was thoughts like that that were damn near getting him in trouble.  
  
Bucky waved him off with a “Pssh.  You kidding?  I’m never too tired to go out dancing.  Sides, I think some of the other Howlies are making a thing of it.  You wanna come?  I’m sure with your endurance you could dance for days, if you bother to learn how that is.”  
  
“Nah, I’ve got some papers to look over that the Colonel gave me tonight, and a meeting with the brass tomorrow morning.  And I _really_ need a shower.”  But there was a blush on his cheeks.  Of course he wasn’t going to go out dancing; not when Agent Carter had his eye.  Those drawings, that blush: Steve had it real bad for her.  Even if Steve hadn’t said so much as a word to her yet, he probably already felt like even going out dancing with a local gal was cheating.  The way Steve looked at Peggy was plain as day to anyone with eyes, and even the blind could tell by the way he talked about her just how much respect he had for her.  Like he was unworthy of her.  But why in the hell did that rankle him?   Why was he also hesitating about going out himself when he found out Steve was staying in? Bucky realized with a sinking feeling in his stomach that he already knew the answer to those questions, he just hadn’t been able to admit it: he was jealous.  Not of Peggy’s attention.  Not of the fact that Steve was finally getting recognized for being the frankly amazing human being he always was.  Not even of the fact that now it was Steve that was turning ladies’ heads when they walked by instead of him.  He was jealous OF Steve.  

“Agent Carter catch up with you?” Bucky pried, swallowing down his bitter revelation.  

“How’d you know?” Steve blinked as he began working on undoing the frankly ridiculous number of buckles on his uniform.  
  
Bucky shook his head with a smirk, “Didn’t you hear?  I’m psychic now.  But no.  I ran into her on the way to the showers myself and she was lookin’ for ya.”  Bucky hesitated, eyes catching uncomfortably on the exposed skin of Steve’s shoulders as he worked off his top.  His shoulders were _so_ broad now, with muscles like they’d been carved outta stone.  They were probably solid as stone, too.  Or like the tree trunk outside of – 

Bucky cleared his throat, shaking his head.  It hadn’t always been like this… right?  Sure, maybe he’d had a stray thought or dream here and there about Steve before.  But that was normal, right?  It was never this persistent: like a bug crawling around in his brain that he couldn’t get out.  Had he always been queer and because of this new body of Steve’s was he only now noticing? Was he that shallow?  Or had something in those Hydra drugs fucked with him permanently?  He didn’t know which was worse.  

But ultimately, it didn’t matter.  He shouldn’t – he couldn’tthink about Steve like that, regardless of if this was something new or not.  Because pure and simple, it couldn’t happen.  So Bucky swallowed down his perverted thoughts and said exactly what he was supposed to say: “You should talk to her.  She isn’t going to be sticking around camp long.  Maybe see if she wants to go dancing with you.”  

 “No, Buck, she’s busy.  We’re both busy – like I said: paperwork before the debriefing tomorrow.”

Bucky frowned, “You know damn well you have time for both if you wanted it.  Why don’t you ask her?  Scared she’d say no?”  
  
“It’s not that – I mean, I don’t _know_ she’d say yes, but you heard what she said back in Italy: maybe after the war’s over.”  
  
“For Chrissakes, Steve – that could be years.” Bucky didn’t even want to think about being out on the battlefield that long.  “Go for it: don’t miss your chance.  You don’t meet a dame like that every fucking lifetime.” 

 “Look, Buck, I appreciate it – I really do – but if she doesn’t wait, then it probably wasn’t meant to be anyway.” 

Bucky frowned as he donned his hat, canting it just a little askew, “Just do me a favor, pal: don’t set yourself up for failure.”

“And you do me a favor, Buck: don’t wake me up when you get in during an ungodly hour of the night.”  Steve changed the subject.  So fine, he tried.   
  
“Yeah, well, you know I was going to step all over your face climbing up to the top bunk, but some punk already claimed it, so I _guess_ I’ll let your entitled ass sleep.”

“Hey, you should just count your blessings you don’t have to share a single cot with me here and they gave us bunks!  I know I take up a lot of space now; you were probably squished back in Italy.” 

Bucky swallowed. “Yeah, you know it.  You always somehow managed to find a way to take up two normal people wortha space back when you were a hundred pounds, and now it’s like sleeping next to a water buffalo.”  
  
Yeah, he _should_ feel lucky, but that was about the exact opposite of what he was feeling.  Bucky couldn’t let on to Steve about what he was thinking, because it could never happen.  Even, best case, Steve wasn’t just plain disgusted with him, he had so much going on for him, so much potential.  Not just Peggy but the respect of the men, the whole army, and all of the fucking United States.  He couldn’t get him involved in his problems, not when things were finally going right for him.  Especially not when it involved Steve like _that_.  Even if Bucky was broken now, he couldn’t drag Steve down with him.  And that was precisely why Bucky needed to go out.  After all, on the rare occasions Bucky had unnatural thoughts before, it had always helped. 

*  
To Dernier’s credit, the cabaret he’d taken them to was the best kind of dive.  The alcohol was cheap, the girls were flirty, and the singing was loud enough to drown out his thoughts.  And better yet, Dernier apparently had spent some time in Tarbes during his stint as a resistance fighter and knew a few of the girls well enough to get them to sit and drink at their table.  And they thought the French pickup lines he’d learned were fucking hilarious, so there, Peggy.  

Even if the drinks were watered down, after four or five, Bucky was pleasantly buzzed and contributing to the haze of cigarette smoke that stood for the air in a place like this.  It might not have been home, the songs might be in French, but if he closed his eyes and didn’t focus on the words, it almost felt like a raucous bar in Brooklyn.   

Dum Dum didn’t seem fazed or hampered in the slightest for not speaking a lick of French.  He’d had enough beers that he may not have even realized he wasn’t still in the states, since he kept going on in English with a voice that boomed over even the music about how he was a three-time boxing champ back in Massachusetts.  And those air-jabs he kept throwing were getting dangerously close to tipping over the drinks.  

“And that’s how I met Mary, gal of my dreams, the one who always cheered the loudest.  Course I had to marry her first shot I got.”  
  
Bucky nearly spit out his own drink, “You’re _married_ , Dum Dum?  She must be dumber ‘n you to agree to wed your sorry ass.”

Dugan held up a finger and shook his head, “Hey now, Mary’s not stupid, she just knows what she likes and ain’t afraid to say it.  Even idiots like me get lucky now and then.  Hell!  Sometimes it even helps!”  He gave Morita an elbow, who just looked back at him, bewildered. 

“The hell’s that supposed to mean, Dugan?”

“Hey, if you don’t get it now, you will eventually.”  
  
Morita shook his head and took another pull at his drink, “You’re drunk, Dum Dum.”  
  
“Of course I’m drunk!” He shouted loudly enough Bucky winced, “Doesn’t mean I’m wrong!”

Gabe had a cute blonde in his lap who seemed to think he was the best thing since sliced bread as he went on in near-fluent French about how he and the rest of the commandos had taken out the Hydra weapons cache.  And then, to his impressed surprise, she shared a story about how her mother, sister and she had managed to trick some Nazi soldiers who taken up occupation in their house into thinking they were sympathetic to their cause.  They lulled them into a sense of security by cooking for them until they received a message from the resistance in Tarbes.  And then, they slipped something into their meals that night on the eve of the arrival of the American troops, helping take their city back.  

Bucky couldn’t imagine what it was like having the war on your literal doorstep like this.  It was one thing to go off and fight for a good cause, but even the thought of his mom and Becca having to deal with enemy soldiers in their home sent chills down his back.  

Bucky was thankful when the band switched to a lively tune that Bucky recognized; he was itching to dance.  And as he got to his feet, Josette, the brunette with her hair in braids who had been sitting across the table, rose along with him.

“You dance?” She asked in English.  
  
“Like Fred Astaire.” Bucky grinned without a scrap of humility. 

“Good.  Then dance with me.  I am tired of sitting and hearing stories about the war.  I get enough of it every day.”

Bucky was happy to oblige.  It was almost like slipping back in time as his feet found the rhythm and the music possessed his body.  He didn’t have to think, he didn’t have to talk, he just danced, flying around the small dancefloor with Josette in his arms keeping impressive time with him.  He hardly even paid attention to the Commandos watching him, whooping and hollering as he lifted and tossed his partner with panache.   
  
But despite how much of an escape the movements were, he found his thoughts drifting back to Steve: wishing he could have joined them.  Wishing he could be the one to teach him how to dance.  He’d be so good at it now, Bucky would bet anything.  He swallowed hard as he felt another stirring at the idea of dancing with Steve in his arms.  But that could absolutely never happen.  And that’s exactly why he was here right now: to get his mind off of nonsensical fantasies like that.  Here he was with a gorgeous dame in his arms and he was still thinking about Steve.  
  
The song ended, and a slow dance tune took its place.  Josette drew in closer, slipping into Bucky’s arms like a coat.  
  
“I hear they warn girls like you about American soldiers like me,” Bucky whispered suggestively. 

Josette rolled her eyes with a quirked smile.  “You don’t have to protect my honor, Soldier-boy.  I have a husband – we were married just a week before he left for the front.  I do not expect him to abstain while he is away, and he should not expect the same from me.  But I shall not bore you with my life story.  Tonight is for dancing, for drinking, and to enjoy the fact we all yet live.”  

She tightened her grip on Bucky’s arm with a confident flash in her eyes, pulling him even closer.  “Or if you are tired of dancing, I do not live far from here.  We can forget about the war for a few hours,” she whispered into his ear as sensuously as a kiss.

God bless the French.

*  
It was just past one in the morning when Bucky slipped back into the officer’s tent, smelling of sex and perfume.  Bucky felt good.  That had been exactly what he had fucking needed: a good time with a great, understanding gal.  Both of them got their rocks off and a distraction from the real world.  The tent was dark, and Steve was sound asleep on the top bunk, but Bucky was able to navigate well enough without having to risk waking Steve with a light.  Josette and their roll in the hay dominated his thoughts during the walk back, but now back in the tent, the thoughts slipped away from his mind as if they were greased up with butter when Bucky’s eyes fell on Steve.  Gone were the hardened lines on his face that kept his face a stoic mask of authority while leading the Commandos.  Gone was the furrow plowed between his brows from pouring over maps or gathered intel.  If Bucky squinted at Steve’s face slack in the sleep of an actual bed, covers drawn up to his chin, he could almost pretend it was the skinny Steve back in Brooklyn who had never seen war; a Steve that he’d never see again.  They’d gone on one campaign, and already he almost never took off the Captain America mask.  It took a lot of ribbing and prodding, giving him a taste of the Brooklyn streets, to pry back the corners of that mask and catch a glimpse of the old Steve.  Bucky worried how much of the Steve he remembered would be left by the end of the war.

Of course, not even civilians were spared from the sobering effect of war when it tore through nations, even those who never saw so much as a fistfight.  Josette might be a woman of liberated sexuality, but it came from a place of not knowing when or even if her husband would return from the front.  Even her marriage had come from pragmatism more than anything else; if he died during the war, she’d be provided for.  If she bore a child while he was away, no one would question the parentage (not that Bucky was dumb enough not to take some precautions).  Then again, plenty a girl back home had faced similar prospects, racing to get married to the first soldier or sailor who cast an eye their way.  And plenty of men had talked about how it made a difference, fighting for a gal back home.

Bucky, however, had thought himself lucky not to be tied down like that.  After all, there had been someone he was expecting to be there when he got back from the war.  Until Steve joined the war effort himself, that is.  But maybe he was deluding himself about how long he could keep on going with it just being him and Steve.  Sure, he figured, some day the two of them would settle down with some nice girls, get places nearby each other, but Bucky had never been in a hurry for that.  And his stomach clenched at why that really might have been.  

Bucky shucked out of his uniform and slipped into his bunk beneath Steve, listening to his steady inhale and exhale.  And before long, the even rhythm quieted his thoughts carried him off along with it into slumber.  
  
*

Warm hands ghosted over his skin and wrapped him in velvet. A fragrant, heady smell of flowers filled his nose, conjuring images of Josette’s coy smile and adept fingers.  But as nice as it was, the touches seemed to only strum the chords of something deeper, something unfulfilled.  And the more earnest he became, the more Josette’s kisses felt shallow.  The more he pressed into her, craving, needy, the more her warm embrace felt unsatisfying.   It was like she was fading away in his grasp.  There, but only in form.  He whined into her, mouthing hotly against cool, unyielding skin.   
  
_It’s not enough._  
   
A hot voice trailed along his neck.  It should have been enough.  It was always enough before.  Right?  

_You’re lying to yourself._  
  
Bucky squeezed his eyes closed, but the press of bodies against him – one cool and fading beneath him, and one hot, heavy, and hard: and everything he wanted, everything he needed, pressing against his back.   
  
_Make a choice._  
  
Bucky grit his teeth.  He wasn’t like that.  He was never like that!  Just passing thoughts, a strong friendship.  Even he knew how hollow that felt. His back arched – did he do that on purpose?? – and he was rewarded with a hard cock pressing back between the swell of his ass cheeks.  

A wanton moan spilled out of his mouth as the presence beneath him faded into plush sheets and blankets that he twisted in his fists.   
  
More.  He needed more.  His body rolled, rubbing against the cock invitingly.   
  
_There, see.  See how badly you want me?_   Steve’s voice asked him.  _What would he think?  What did they do to you?  Turn you into some kind of inverted pervert?  Or were you always like this?  Did you think of him like this, before_?   _Do you think he thought of you?_  
  
The form behind him shifted, become slighter.  Long, deft fingers ran down along his side before wrapping around his cock, handling him as expertly as he did a paintbrush.  
  
_I could make art out of you, Bucky_.   
  
“Please!” Bucky gasped, eyes fluttering open and glancing back to see Steve – the old Steve – wrapped around him.  The way his eyes could follow his collarbone, down his spine, the graceful if slightly askew arc of his back.  Bucky missed him so bad it hurt, and he wanted him, wanted him closer, wanted him inside.  
  
_Or maybe, you like me as I am now – as I always should have been?  Strong, tall-_ the form behind him shimmered and grew, expanding and engulfing Bucky in the hard press of muscle.  The hand around his cock swelled, taking him rougher, firm and confident. __  
  
“Yes,” Bucky thrust into his hand, but it wasn’t enough.  His body felt so empty, so hungry for him.   
  
But right as he felt the blunt tip of him starting to press against him, in just the right spot to solve all his problems, Steve’s voice lanced through his mind, _But I’m fixed now, Buck.  You don’t have to worry about me anymore.  I’m_ fixed, but you’re broken.   
  
*  
  
And in a gasp, Bucky was jarringly ejected from the dream to find himself sweaty, scared, and alone in his bunk.  Steve’s uncannily even breathing continued uninterrupted above him, and with a muffled groan, Bucky covered his face with his hands.  
  
That persistent fucking bug in his head.  Even if – _if_ – Bucky had been like _that_ before the war, it had never been quite like this.  The rare time that Bucky felt like he was drifting into some dangerous territory with Steve, he’d been able to hook up with a gal and things would be fine for a while.  This time, he’d taken the edge off with Josette for what?  Five goddamn minutes?   Fuck Hydra.  Fuck their chemicals.  Maybe the ritual was bullshit, but something they’d pumped him with had screwed with him.  Probably a fucking unintended reaction thanks to some goddamn madman playing roulette with a chemistry set.  Because why in the hell would someone try to turn him queer?  
  
Bucky roughly turned over, pointedly ignoring the hardness in his pants.  It _couldn’t_ be like this.  Steve had a life now, people looked up to him, and Peggy was exactly the kind of gal that Steve always deserved.  And what was Bucky doing?  Thinking about crap that could ruin everything for him, that’s what.  He’d be better than this for both their sakes.  It might be harder than before, but Bucky was a stubborn son of a bitch.  After all, he wasn’t completely screwed: he’d still had a good time with Josette, and it had taken a bit of the edge off.  He could keep a lid on things.  He had to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter notes originally here about Steve and Bucky and their sexuality has been moved back to chapter 8 where the issue first comes up. If you haven't read it yet, you can go back and find it there :)


	12. Chapter 12

  
  
“And I say it’s a _shitty_ plan, Steve!” 

“It’s the best plan we’ve got.  I haven’t heard any better ones.  And now there’s less than an hour left until more reinforcements arrive than we can deal with.”   
  
Bucky shook his head, jaw clenched, and roasted Steve with a glare.  

Ironically, the whole thing had started out aces.  Now that the intel from the Kreischberg weapons facility had been proven fresh, they were back out again quick enough to catch Hydra scrambling after the first successful run raiding the supply bunker.  They were riding high on their success and Bucky figured getting out there into the field again was exactly what he needed.  Out there, he could focus on the war and get his head out of the thoughts that threatened to pull him under at base.   
  
This time, they’d headed into Germany itself, having been air-dropped in by none other than Howard-fucking-Stark personally.  Steve virtually had to put a muzzle on Bucky halfway through the flight to keep his star-struck yap shut.  And who could blame him, really?  He was feeling better since Josette; not so much on edge at least.  So maybe a few passing thoughts had flitted through his mind about how given the right circumstances, he could be convinced to go down on Howard.  But in his defense, the man had written articles in at least three of the _Popular Mechanics_ magazines that Bucky personally owned.  He had rushed out to buy the issue off the newsstands where Howard Stark had first talked about his flying car.  Man of the Future, he was.

From there, the mission had gone well.  They’d spent the better part of a week working their way closer to the target base.  Steve was taking to the role of Captain like a duck to water; he delivered commands with authority and confidence.  Falsworth had been vital in assisting Steve with planning the best tactical route from the drop site to the base.  Dernier’s knowledge of avoiding German scouts kept them out of sight until they were ready to be seen, and Morita had tapped into their radio frequency and figured out the rotation of guards and when vehicles were scheduled to arrive and depart.  And for a while, yeah, Bucky was focused.  His whole world stilled when he had his eye to a scope and his finger by the trigger.  He picked off scouts at ranges of more than 500 yards long before they were spotted.  

But a week in, and Bucky was facing the hard fact that his head was _not_ getting out of it.  Not anymore.  It didn’t matter that they were on mission.  It didn’t matter that he had found a few moments when someone else was on watch to take matters into his own hands.  Not for long at least.  Even after falling asleep after his last good jerk off, _those_ dreams had persisted, taunting him and leaving him frustrated, shaky, and snappy.  And during the day, he couldn’t get it out of his head: sex, particularly sex with _men_.  Broad shoulders, rippling muscles, and their cocks: the thought of what it would feel like in his mouth wouldn’t leave him alone.  And sometimes, he caught himself staring at Steve as those fantasies wormed through his head, leaving him feeling like shit for hours for allowing those thoughts to take root.  

In the heat of battle as they’d taken the base, Bucky channeled his frustration.  But now, the base cleared, he was so on edge that everything was irritating him.  _Especially_ Steve and this stupid, risky fucking plan of his.  

“We never should have mounted the attack with such a small exit window.” Bucky snapped.

“Oh this is suddenly my fault?”  Morita interjected, rankled.  “This was our _best_ shot, Barnes.  This is after they got the goods in we need to recover, and markedly BEFORE more troops arrive.  We’ve even had time to do a check of the compound.” 

“I agree with the Sergeant,” Falsworth muttered, “The Captain’s plan is too risky.”

“It doesn’t matter.  We’re here now and we need to get the intel and the cargo to the extraction site before we’re surrounded by a bunch of pissed off Squid-Nazis.  All we’re doing now is wasting fucking time.” Dugan barked.

“We can’t leave till we have the place set to blow anyway.” Bucky argued, “I am not going to just stand here and okay a plan that puts Steve out in the open like that without being able to watch his back.”

“Dernier’s got the charges set up,” Gabe interjected quietly.   
  
“Well fuck, then if we’re good to go, then what are we waiting for?  Of course we should go off half-cocked on the first cockamamie plan we got.”  Bucky threw his hands up.

“Bucky.” Steve spoke up again, this time in his Captain America voice.  “There’s one covered supply vehicle that was scheduled to head West towards our extraction point.  It’s already loaded up with the cargo we need to get back to base.  And Private Jones, please confirm the notes on the transport.”  
  
Gabe had the bible-sized supply and shipping manifest they’d located flipped to the back, “Like I said, the translation hasn’t changed: one driver, no passengers. Driver was scheduled to be one ‘J. Wenssel.”

Steve nodded.  “And we found him in the facility.  A big guy.  Blonde.  That’s what anyone along the roads - which we’re going to have to take – will be looking for.  So I’m driving, wearing his uniform, and the rest of you are going to be in the back to avoid suspicion.”

“And if we’re stopped? You don’t even speak German!”

“Yes I do.” 

“Since fucking when?!  You’ve been outside the US for – what? Like three months?  Maybe?”  
  
“The serum’s helped-“

Bucky wasn’t in the mood for this.  “God damn it, Steve.  You’re too recognizable.”

“That’s the best thing about this mask: it’s all anyone sees.  I take off my uniform, put on Wenssel’s, and no one will be the wiser.”

“But if the wrong guy DOES know your face, all it takes is one sniper with a shot through the front window and you’re gone.  Serum can’t save you from a bullet through the head!  You won’t have a look out, you won’t have eyes on your back.  The rest of us’ll all be blind for the, what, sixty-something mile drive through Nazi fucking Germany?!”

“That’s the plan, so get in the back of the truck.  And that is an order, Sergeant Barnes!” Steve’s voice was like the crack of a whip, snapping Bucky’s spine straight.  But that was it; Bucky shut down, his protests dying in his mouth.  Begrudging resolve settled over him like a shroud as he was already turning on his heel.  
  
“Yes, sir _,_ Captain America, SIR.” Bucky spat with seething sarcasm, stalking towards the back of the truck with a scowl that could curdle milk.  

“Bucky – hey – BUCKY!” Steve called after him, but Bucky pointed ignored him. 

“Just let him go, Cap.” Dugan said.  “Now, you find the keys to this baby in this haystack of a compound?”  
  
“No, I-“ Steve shook his head, face falling.  “We’ve turned up a lot of keys, but finding the right one, if it’s even one of them…”

Dugan waved him off with a grin.  “Don’t sweat it, Cap.  I’d be more than happy to show you how to steal a car.”

*  
Bucky shifted for the seventh time in the past five minutes as the transport truck rattled along the uneven road, and he still couldn’t get goddamn comfortable.  He and the Howlies were crammed in the cargo box along with the goods from the facility, and it obviously wasn’t designed with human transport in mind.  There were no benches, no seat harnesses, and no ventilation.  Bucky could deal with it being positively toasty inside as the six of them were knocking knees; that was a welcome change from the near-freezing temperatures outside, but smells also had nowhere to go.  And if the ‘ _eu de homme’_ wasn’t bad enough, some of the crates they now shared space with had their own unique bouquet that set Bucky on edge.  It wasn’t even that they stunk, per se.  No, it was worse than that.  Their search of the facility had also turned up some damn disturbing contents: bottles of animal and human body parts floating in formaldehyde, jars of tightly-packed organs and body fluids, and even a vat of acrid yellow ichor that bore an unsettling resemblance to bile.  And all of them were now rattling, clanking, and stinking up the back of the truck.  

But that wasn’t even the fucking worst of it.  No, that prize went to the drugs and other chemicals that smelled hauntingly familiar, dumping some really unpleasant fucking memories right in Bucky’s lap: flashes of being bound to a table, drugged to the gills and force-fed God-knew-what.  And he couldn’t keep the thoughts from tumbling through his head: what were they doing?!  What in the fuck were they trying to do with all of this freaky ass bullshit?!  What had they tried to do to him?  And, all of it had been flagged for transport to another facility.  So that meant that they weren’t done with their sick fucking cult experiment, ritual, whatever.  Other people might be subject to the same demented experiments he had been. 

With a grunt of frustration, Bucky forcibly pulled his thoughts out of the muck and elbowed his way away from the crate that had served as the world’s most uncomfortable backrest and to the other end of the vehicle.  
  
“Hey, watch it, Barnes!” Morita grunted. “This isn’t the Ritz; none of us are comfortable.”

“The box stunk.”  
  
“They all stink.  Hell, you stink.” 

“I wanna move so I’m goddamn moving – you got a problem with that, Jim?”

“What bug crawled up your ass today, Barnes?” Dum Dum grunted as Bucky took a seat next to him. 

Bucky shoot his head tautly.  He wasn’t going to get into it with them; he couldn’t bring up what went on back there.  He didn’t even want to give voice to it to give it any more fucking power over him than it already had.  “Where the hell were these things going off to, anyway?”  

Gabe shrugged, giving the inch-thick manifest a wave, “There’s a lot of coordinates in here: to’s, from’s, and shipping routes, but it’s all in German, and there’s a lot of code and shorthand.  I’ll tell you this, there’s some great intel in this, I’m sure including the destination of those crates, I’ll just need time to pour over it when we’re not fifty miles across the German border.”

Bucky was already half-tuning out the conversation.  Because, of course the crate he’d moved over to presented a whole new set of fun distractions.  A static charge set the hairs on his arms and back of his neck on edge, and if he strained, he could hear an almost imperceptible humming.  It must be the crate with the fucking blue power cells they’d found.  It had to be.  And maybe it was just vibrations from the road.  Maybe he was imagining things.  But he swore he could feel a tingling running through his body, spreading through his veins with each pump of his heart.  He had to be imagining it.  But Dum Dum was sitting on the other side of the box and he hadn’t said a damn thing, and he loved to fucking complain almost as much as Bucky did.  
  
“That booklet’s probably going to keep us busy for the next six months, boys!” Dugan beamed.

 _Keep us busy.  I want to get busy.  Right fucking now._ Bucky leaned his head back, squeezing his eyes shut as he felt himself growing hard.  _Fuck, not now._   

Falsworth chimed in, looking flushed with the success of the mission, “He’s right.  Based on the volume of cargo the facilities receive, we can surmise how large the other bases are and get an idea of what kind of work they’re doing.  We can use it to prioritize our targets.  This was a great win today.”

Uninvited images swum through Bucky’s mind of scenarios that involved him and the Howling Commandos stuck back here in the cloistered shipping container.  Jones working open his fly, and Bucky at his feet, eager to take him into his mouth and feeling the weight of it on his tongue.  Tasting his sweat and breathe in his musk…  _No, Fuck – what in the Hell, Bucky?!_

“I’ll tell you what I’m looking forward to, Monty: being back to base after all this.  That French girl Dernier introduced me to, she was sweet as cream.”  Gabe said, putting aside the manifest. 

Dernier chuckled, “<You should have seen the girls in Marseilles.  Those were the women who really knew how to fight, and when they have such spirit and bring it to the bedroom, you just hold on and let them take you for the fuck of your life!>”

Seriously?!  They were talking about sex now, too?  Of all the fucking times.  What if they somehow knew the sick things going through Bucky’s head?  Like a girl riding Dernier like a fucking stallion, no not a girl.  Him.  What would it feel like with a cock rammed tight up his ass?  Bucky’s dick throbbed as the images fed into his arousal.  He bit his lip, trying to distract himself from the arousal with the pain.  
  
“I don’t know what the hell he just said,” Dum Dum leaned in, “But by the smile on your face, Frenchie, I can tell I like the sound of it!” 

Gabe chuckled, “Oh you would like more than the sound of it.  If you weren’t married that is.  Sorry, but I guess you’re never going to experience the girls of Marseilles.”  

It worked for a moment – just a moment, but the pain faded and his cock throbbed mercilessly with a vengeance, twitching and reaching full arousal.  

“Don’t be sorry, Jones!  You should see some of the letters my gal sends me.  Better than a Tijuana Bible is what they are!” 

Morita tugged at his collar, looking on the uncomfortable side of pink. “Man, is there something in the air?”  

Bucky swallowed thickly.  Please, let this be some kind of fucked up coincidence.  But did it even matter?  Bucky felt like he was going to go crazy in here.  What if he slipped – what if he said something out loud?  Or no, what if instead Morita let him relieve some of that pressure he was obviously under.  Morita was usually on the quiet side; maybe he could make him-

The whine of breaks shattered Bucky’s thoughts to pieces as the truck slid into a sharp stop. The conversation went dead as everyone in the back snapped to silent attention; it was too soon to be at the extraction point.  Bucky almost hated himself for being thankful for a distraction.  This could be bad, really fucking bad.  

The crunch of boots on gravel moved towards the front of the truck, and muffled voices in German started barking inquiries.   
  
<”Halt!  Where is this vehicle going?  Show us your papers!”>

<”Of course.  I have the papers here.  I’m expected in Dusseldorf at 14 hundred hours.”> Even Bucky could hear the hesitation in Steve’s words and make out the hint of an American accent in his German.  Fuck.  Fuck fuck fuck.

<”Who gave you these orders? What are you transporting?”> The German voice sounded suspicious.  
  
“What’s going on out there?” Dugan whispered, uncharacteristically quiet. 

“There’s some kind of checkpoint,” Bucky whispered back, “And I think there’s a problem.”  
  
“We need a distraction,” Falsworth urged quickly.

“I am… good with distraction.” Dernier whispered in heavily accented English before pulling out a few materials, quickly packing and assembling a fist-sized explosive.  “Impact detonation.  Big and flashy.”

“Great thinking, Frenchie,” Bucky grinned.  “I’ve got just the thing,” he fished a sling out of his pack and took the bomb from Dernier.  “Gabe: open the back just a crack quiet-like, and be prepared to shut it quick after I fire.”  Bucky got down on his stomach, drew back the loaded pouch, and evened his breathing.  
  
Gabe nodded, taking a crouch by the metal sliding door, counting silently down on his fingers: 3… 2… 1…  
  
The back panel slid open a foot and a half and Bucky took in the scene like a snapshot.  There: 70 yards, a clump of bushes at the base of the trees.  He angled the slingshot and let the bomb fly.  The door slid closed right behind it, and just a few seconds later they were rewarded with a rattling BOOM and surprised shouts in German.  Rifles cocked and running boots set off down the road.  

Dugan slapped the dividing wall between the cargo and the cab hard twice, and the truck slammed forward, tearing down the road as the checkpoint guards were left scrambling.  

Five seconds passed… ten seconds… the distant sound of gunfire rattled, but nothing pinged off the back of the truck.  Judging from the sound, they were firing towards the explosion site.

“Good work, Boys!” Dugan voiced what everyone was thinking.

“Yeah yeah – nice work – but keep your fucking voice down, Dum Dum!” Morita said in a strained whisper, but there was a grin on his face, too.  

The truck barreled on for another thirty minutes before it finally started to slow again.  
  
“This should be the extraction point.” Falsworth let out a breath he must have been holding, mopping at his brow with a scrap of cloth.  And Bucky felt that on a spiritual level.  They couldn’t have gotten there soon enough.  

He didn’t wait.  He jerked open the back, getting a welcomingly sobering blast of cold air and jumped down into the ankle-deep snow, ignoring the surprised inquiries behind him.

That is, until Steve’s caught him.  “Buck?  Hey Buck – where are you going?  Extraction’s due here in five.”  
  
“I gotta go take a piss.” Bucky clipped, not slowing. 

Steve kept pace with him, working his jaw for a moment before spitting it out, “Hey, Bucky.  I’m sorry.  I know you’re angry at me and yeah – maybe with good reason.  But if someone’s got to take a risk, I’d rather it be me.  I can take more than most people.  But I shouldn’t have shut you down like that back at base.”

Bucky ran a hand through his hair with a frustrated huff.  He didn’t want to deal with this now, but he needed to say it, “What you said back there about how your Captain America mask is all anyone sees?  That’s your problem, Steve: I’m worried that it’s all you see sometimes, too.  Just promise me you won’t lose yourself to this… this character.”  

  
 “I don’t think I could ever forget where I come from.  Not when you’re here by my side.  I’m glad you’re here watching out for me, Buck.”  
  
“Yeah, well, someone’s apparently got to.” Bucky muttered, but already he was fighting back a begrudging smile.  Why was it so hard to stay mad at Steven fucking Rogers?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to syralscreams on tumblr for continued support and feedback – and to everyone who comments, kudos, and reads this fic – I a so happy I’m being able to share this story that’s been simmering in my mind with others!


	13. Chapter 13

The airlift that gathered up The Howling Commandos, commandeered truck and all, was only a two-hour jump to Camp Griffiss, a US Air Force Base stationed in London.  But despite the fact that the flight was shorter than the time they’d spend driving through Germany to the pick-up zone, it felt to Bucky like he was trapped in the flying metal can for fucking ever.  He was jittery, sweaty, and horny as hell.  Although, fortunately for Bucky’s sanity, the deafening roar of the engines prevented any kind of meaningful conversation.  Gabe spent the time poring over the manifest, Steve had gone up to speak with the pilot, and the rest of the Howlies took advantage of the fact it was the first time in over a week they weren’t stuck behind enemy lines to catch some rest.  That left Bucky alone with his thoughts, pretending to sleep, but battling increasingly salacious fantasies.  He was going fucking crazy, and the fact he occasionally overheard moans from some of the sleeping men was not helping matters.

Dernier murmured in his sleep, and Bucky’s mind conjured the uninvited question of what kind of French expletives the man would mutter if Bucky were to take his dick into his mouth.  What new artful turn of phrase would Dernier come up with looking down at his Sergent with his mouth full of his cock, or would he actually find himself at a loss of words and just moan like- _NO, Fuck, Bucky.  Think!  Think about anything else._

But what in the hell was he supposed to do?  Even if this was somehow a result of something Hydra did to him, he couldn’t go to the Brass with this.  Even if they believed him and didn’t just send him packing with a blue card discharge and a one-way ticket to the looney bin, then the alternative was likely just as unpleasant: send him to a lab to be poked, prodded, and studied.  Steve probably didn’t even realize how fucking lucky he was that he didn’t wind up a lab rat considering he was their only successful super soldier, and that was likely only because he made the papers right out of the gate.  They couldn’t bury that.  

And Steve: normally Bucky would go to him if he had a real problem, but not now, not with this.  There was no way Bucky would risk their friendship by making Steve feel uncomfortable knowing the sick things worming through his mind.  Because it was Steve that Bucky’s mind kept circling back to.  It was Steve’s cock that Bucky found himself daydreaming about the most: how much it would stretch him open, what it would feel like, and if it would fill that yawning emptiness that was growing deeper with each passing day.  Guilt churned with lust, but it wasn’t enough to banish the thought of what Steve would look like erect with that new body of his.  What it would smell like, burying his nose in Steve’s short and curlies as he mouthed at what he was sure was an enormous cock.  What it would taste like if he came hot on his tongue?  Bucky squirmed, propping one of his feet on the seat next to him so that even if someone was awake and looked his way, his tented trousers wouldn’t be immediately obvious.  

He had to deal with this alone.  He couldn’t talk to the Brass, couldn’t tell Steve, and couldn’t tell any of the Howlies: men he had to share close quarters with and keep their trust.  
  
Close quarters like they shared right now.  How disgusted would they be with him, if they knew the things that had crossed his mind?   What if they surrounded him, humiliating him, forcing him to take turns going down on them, opening himself up so that they could go two at a time-

With a frustrated grunt, Bucky stood up, stretched, and paced back and forth along the belly of the plane.  What kind of sick son of a bitch fantasized about his friends like this?!  This was worse than it even had been back in France.  He wasn’t just looking, wasn’t just getting hard imagining them naked or touching him, but he wanted it to feel what it was like to have a dick shoved in him.  Things only queer men thought about.  

_When we get to London, I’m going out – hitting the town.  I’ll find a dame, pay one if I gotta, and I’ll get this out of my system again.  I’ll be gravy for another few weeks.  You can deal with this, Barnes.  You’re better than this.  You’re a stubborn bastard, so prove it: bottle it up and fucking MOVE ON._

*

When they finally touched down, Bucky sped out of the plane as if he were on fire, extinguishing himself in the soggy, frigid London winter.  The cloying cold was sobering enough to gather his thoughts as the other men filed reluctantly out into the sleet.  

“Home sweet home,” Falsworth sighed with only a hint of sarcasm. 

“God dammit, we finally get a break in a real city and it’s freezing rain?” Dum Dum griped.  

“Cheer up, mate, we’ve got a solid roof over our heads tonight.”

“Yeah, but I wanted to hit the town.”   
  
“But it’s more than just tonight,” Steve beamed. “I’ve been talking with Colonel Phillips over the radio.  With all we’re bringing back it sounds like we’ll have at least a week’s worth of downtime at base as we translate the files and plan our next move.  Enjoy the break: you’ve earned it!”

A week?!  Bucky felt green around the gills.  He was already mired in these fucking delusions.  It was bad enough on the battleground when he was focused on not getting himself killed and keeping the other Howlies alive, but sitting around with idle hands was going to drive him crazy if he didn’t get it out of his system and fast.   Bucky didn’t think he could spend a single night in the barracks around all those _hard-bodied, sexy_ – around all that temptation; not if he didn’t want to fuck up and get found out.  “Little rain gonna stop ya?” Bucky piped up, “I don’t give a damn if there’s a hurricane.  I’m still going out tonight.”

“Fuck that.  Barnes, you can swim to the tavern if you like.  I ain’t that hard up that I can’t wait until the rain lets up.”  Dugan shook his head. 

“I’m going to get some well-earned sleep.” Falsworth agreed, “It’s probably going to be a long debriefing tomorrow.”

“You feeling OK, Bucky?” Steve asked quietly, “You were looking pretty clammy back there on the plane.  You’re not running a fever, are you?”

“No, no, I’m fine,” Bucky waved him off.  “I think you’re confusing me for the old you.  Don’t worry, it takes more than a little cold to bring me down.” Bucky adjusted his mask of bravado.

Steve’s lips pressed into a dubious frown as he eyed the flush on Bucky’s cheeks, “Still, you sure you feel up to going out tonight?”

“Oh yeah.  I’m really fucking sure.”

“Well, I won’t stop you.  We’re bunking in hut 17, but don’t come to me looking for sympathy if you make yourself sick and wind up spending your downtime in the med tent.” 

“Aw Stevie, you talk a big game but I know I’d probably have to chase you away from my sickbed with a pillow if I was laid up.”  
  
“Well, I do owe you a couple nights as a nursemaid.” 

“A couple?  Try dozens,” Bucky grinned, “But I’m a charitable guy, I can look past that.  Enjoy your paperwork or whatever – I’m going to go change my duds and enjoy myself some leave!” 

*  
The hut in question was down a long row of nearly identical cylindrical structures that, in the hazy rain, looked like monstrous fallen silos staring at him with suspicious, slitted window-eyes.  Bucky scowled back at them before stomping up into number 17.

Bucky knew that they’d gotten lucky with the VIP treatment they’d received in the last couple bases, so he wasn’t expecting to luck out with private accommodations again.  But he wasn’t prepared for the full barracks of half-dressed soldiers that he walked in on.  It was late enough in the evening with bad enough weather that most of the airmen were in for the night and dressed, at best, in their skivvies, and enjoying some reprieve.  

He groaned inwardly as he tried to keep his eyes at his feet, acutely aware of the scores of men roughhousing in various states of undress.   Trying to conceal the bulge in his pants behind his bag as his body enthusiastically responded to the scene, Bucky picked his way to a free section of cots in the far corner where he dumped his duffle onto an empty bed.  He couldn’t help but glance around self-consciously, giving him an eyeful of a stocky guy with fire-engine red hair in just a pair of boxers that left little to Bucky’s overactive imagination.  His vision swam, mind conjuring a scenario where Bucky tore down those boxers and took the man’s thick cock between his lips, sucking him off right there in front of half of the 416th.  This was like his worst fucking nightmare.  He tore off his drenched coat, tossing it onto the bedframe, and peeled off his undershirt, trying to breathe through his arousal.  It was like going through a second puberty, only ten times worse.  Even though logically he knew that no one had paid him any mind as he walked in, it sure as hell felt like every set of eyes was on him: that they could all see his obvious hard on, and they all knew what was in his head.  His heart hammered in his chest as he rifled through his duffle for a clean set of clothes, more sure than ever that he needed to get the hell out of dodge, find some booze, find a dame, and get his head put back together.    

As soon as he had on a fresh set of clothes, Bucky lit out of there, not even noticing as the other soldiers’ conversations took a raunchy turn.


	14. Chapter 14

Bucky flicked open the top couple of buttons of his shirt as he slid the door shut behind him. The room was small, worse for wear, and only barely filtered out the loud singing from the tavern below, but it had four walls and a bed, and right now that exceeded Bucky’s standards.  Besides, it’s not like he was even planning on staying the night.

He turned a winning smile on the dame who’d joined him.  They’d had a good time so far: having knocked back enough drinks to make the raucous singing a good enough tune to dance to.  Usually, drinking and dancing alone was a win enough in Bucky’s book; he loved letting the music carry him, and the attention and admiration he garnished for being damn good at it.  But the entire evening, Bucky had felt like he was on a fucking mission, pun intended.  He needed to get laid, and despite the fact every damn guy in the bar was drawing his attention, he wasn’t going to let those impulses win.  He focused his drumming need, turned on the Barnes charm, and was determined to solve his problem the same way he always did: redirect it to something normal-like and get it out of his system.

“You danced like a whirlwind out there, Susan.” Bucky crooned, emphasizing that he had indeed remembered her name, as he mouthed a kiss beneath her ear. “Maybe you should take a load off those gorgeous gams of yours.” 

“I know guys like you,” she said with her charming Liverpool accent.  “Might as well be holding auditions.”  She coyly wiggled out of his grasp and turned to face him with a mischievous grin.  “I guess I won first place, eh?”

“Babydoll, you just won yourself the grand prize,” Bucky said as he untied the ribbon from her strawberry curls, draping it playfully around her shoulders, “Lookit that: the blue ribbon.”  He ran his other hand through her loosened locks, letting his fingertips trace ever so lightly along the back of her neck.  

“You Americans are so humble,” she teased, letting her hands flit over the buttons of his shirt he had already started unbuttoning, but her expression softened as she looked up at him with darkened eyes, letting her fingers play over the hot skin of his collarbone.  “So, what did I win?” she asked huskily.

“Well, sweetheart,” Bucky drawled out “It’s your lucky night.  I’ve got your trophy right here,” His eyes flicked down to the bulge in his trousers.  “Even got a wrapper for it so you can take it home with ya,” he said as he fished an army-issue prophylactic packet from a pocket. 

“They keep you soldiers well stocked,” she noted, plucking the condom from his hand and turning it over in her fingers.  She placed it aside on the bedside table, looking over her shoulder invitingly, “Some help?” she asked, indicating the line of small pearly buttons on the back of her dress.

Bucky was behind her in a breath, his deft fingers plucking each button free from its eyelet as he pressed kisses to her neck and the bulge of his erection against the swell of her backside.  “Just look at you.  So gorgeous,” He whispered as he let the unclasped dress fall loose over the smooth skin of her shoulders.  But even as he looked her over, his mind’s eye supplanted the vision with the slender, sun-freckled shoulders of Steve – bare down to the waist at the shore on Coney Island.  

Susan shrugged out of the dress without shyness, turning around as it fell to the ground and leaving her in nothing but her tissue-thin slip that clung to the curves of her hips and bust invitingly.  “You’re not so hard to look at yourself, soldier-boy,” she purred, backing up and letting her thighs hit the back of the bed.  “Now, are you good at dancing horizontally as you are on the dance floor?  Or is it all talk?”

Bucky undid his fly, stepping out of his slacks and hooked his thumbs at the waistband of his undershorts, “If I do my job right, darling, you’ll be the one making all the noise.”  He slid off his boxers, revealing his bobbing erection, and moved to his knees between Susan’s thighs.  He took one of them in his hands, kneading, and planting kisses as he moved closer to the sweet spot.

She obviously liked that answer, but was quite finished with banter.  She simply purred affirmatively and let herself fall back on the bed, letting her legs fall open as Bucky made his way to their apex.

With each kiss, he lingered longer, sucking and licking a warm path until he was planting a humming kiss through her panties.  There, Bucky lingered, licking and mouthing until his nose filled with her sweet musk and her words and dissolved to needy murmurs.  His eyes slid closed, and he had to keep himself from groaning in frustration as he imagined the press of a dick against the same lacy panties, mouthing and sucking at its length.  

He drew back, just long enough to snake the packet from the nightstand and roll the rubber down over himself, letting her writhe and want in his absence.  

Then, finally, he stood, placing a hand to either side of her hips and easing her panties over the swell of her thighs and down her legs. 

“Look at you,” He paused, admiring Susan, slip rucked up over her hips, before lowering himself down over her.  His head dipped down, trailing kisses along her jaw while moving a hand between her legs.  He dipped two fingers into her crevice, stimulating her and smiling as he felt just how wet she’d gotten.  “You ready for me, sweetheart?”  
  
“Please,” she moaned, raking her nails over the hot skin of his back.  “You soldiers just don’t know when to shut up,” she laughed with a breath before pulling his head down and sealing her lips over his.

Bucky guided himself slowly inside, sending off a silent prayer that this would fix him again.  He needed to be in his right mind among his brothers in arms; he couldn’t deal with the degenerate fantasies that had been dominating his mind.  But even as he settled into the familiar rocking motions, even as Susan moaned beneath him, and even as the stimulation made his ramping lust almost unbearable, it wasn’t enough.  It felt like he was just making things worse; like he was starving and trying to slake a ravenous hunger with water.  He squeezed his eyes tight, only to be assaulted by visions.  Steve, laying beneath him, hard, Bucky riding him like a fucking stallion.  Steve, broad hands gripping his shoulders, holding him still as he stretched him and filled him.  Steve, eyes dark and cheeks flushed as he came inside him.

Bucky’s mind was a million miles away, but he still wasn’t getting any closer to the release his body needed. 

Sometime later, the words began to cut through the fog.  “James...James!” The moan was gone, and her voice was now edged by concern.  When Bucky finally opened his eyes, Susan was still under him, hair tussled above her on the bed and her tits half-freed from her undergarment.  “Hey Cowboy, where you at?” she asked with a breathy sigh, wiping some sweat off her brow.

“I- I’m here.  Right here.” Bucky tried, but the lie sounded hollow even to his own ears.  His cock was still rock hard and buried inside her.  How long had he been going at it, rutting into her mindlessly but getting nowhere?  Had he at least gotten her off, or was he failing on all fronts?  

“Maybe we should try something else?” she asked hopefully, not even bothering to mask the disappointment in her voice.  

This should have worked.  It worked before, it always worked before.  But now, Bucky wasn’t getting anything but sweaty and more frustrated.  “Look, I swear, darling, this has never happened to me before.” He grunted, pulling out.

 “Oh love,” she chirped, “Most men I know usually have the opposite problem.  Here, let me turn over.” Susan rolled over and propped herself on her hands and knees, looking over her shoulder and wiggling her ass at Bucky.   She reached under herself and used her fingers to tease herself salaciously, daring Bucky to continue.  
  
Guiltily, he looked over her firm ass.  Maybe that would be close enough?  It was a rare dame that was up for backdoor play, and maybe it should have been more of a sign to him years ago when that was something he had looked for.   “Yeah, doll, that’d be real nice.  Nice to meet an adventurous gal like you.”  Bucky stuck his fingers in his mouth before reaching down and placing the pad of his finger against the pucker of her asshole, but even as he went to do it, his traitorous mind positioned what it would be like if someone were to do this to him instead.  

However, Susan’s hips jerked away suddenly and she was sitting up in the bed in a moment’s notice, “Whoa!  Slow down there, Cowboy, what kind of girl to you think I am?” she snapped.

Fuck!  Bucky jerked his hand back; he should have known better!  Of course she just meant a different position, but thanks to his addled fucking mind, he was screwing up even worse!  “Oh shit, Darlin’, I’m sorry – I thought you meant-“

The anger melted from Susan’s face as she put her hands on her chest and gently pushed him down on his back, crawling over him.  “Not thinking about your wife back home, are you?” she quipped, lowering herself over Bucky as she began to ride him.

Bucky went boneless, letting her take charge.  His cock throbbed mercilessly as she slid down over him.  A groan spilled from his mouth as he shook his head and made himself turn the sound into words, “N-no ma’am.  I ain’t married”  

“Okay,” she panted, “Just shut up then,” she breathed, clumsily putting her hand over his mouth and letting her fingers slide into his hot mouth.   
  
Bucky sealed his lips around her fingers, humming as he slid his eyes closed.  Oh god, he wanted that to be a cock.  What in the hell was wrong with him?!  This was supposed to set him straight, but instead it was just driving him mad.  Susan was a dream of a hook-up, and here he was, wishing he was with a fellah instead of this gorgeous, sexy dame.  And the longer she went at it, the closer she got; but the more riled up Bucky got, the more his mind assailed him with what it was he really wanted.  No, what he _needed_.  

Some minutes later, she finally began to convulse and her mouth fell open in a moan as she came, using Bucky’s relentless arousal to her own benefit. 

Bucky let out a guttural grunt of frustration as she came down off of her orgasm.  He was happy for her.  Really.  But right now, he was mostly happy that she was finished because this was doing nothing for him other than underlining how bad he needed to get off and how much this wasn’t doing it for him.  He was somehow harder up now than he was before he went upstairs.  The longer he tried, the closer he got, and the crazier he felt.   As gently as he could manage, he rolled out from under her and peeled the condom off of his throbbing erection.  

“Feel free to take a load off here for a bit if you need to, doll.” Bucky said, planting a kiss on her cheek.  He needed to get the hell out of here.  He needed…   

Susan plopped on the bed, her face screwed up in a pout.  “Blimey, you’re settin’ a new record, James,” she whined.  “Did you even finish?  What’s your problem?”

Bucky shook his head with a scowl as he wrangled his trousers back on, fighting to get them buttoned up around his sensitive hard on. “I don’t fucking know.” He couldn’t keep the irritation from his voice.  Who the hell was she to judge him?!  Even if she was spot-on.    
  
“Lay off the booze, Soldier-boy,” she said with a resigned sigh, beginning to straighten out her clothing.  “Eventually you won’t be able to get it up at all.”

If only that was his problem.  “Yeah, well, you’re welcome.” He snipped, disgruntled and pent-up as he shoved on his boots.  

*  
What the hell was he going to do?  How could he be expected to go back to base like this?  But he couldn’t seriously be thinking about actually going through with it and finding a guy to sleep with… right?  He couldn’t.  It was all right if a fella thought about it from time to time, but if he actually went and acted on those thoughts, then he really was a queer.  

He couldn’t.  He wouldn’t.  He didn’t know what he was going to do, but it sure as hell wasn’t going to be another man.   
  
Bucky’s resolve made it as far as the bar downstairs.

He was about to order a double of whisky when he caught sight of his reflection in the mirror behind the bar.  He looked wrecked: his hair was disheveled, his face was coated in a sheen of sweat over flushed cheeks and puffy, red lips.  And his eyes… his irises were only the barest sliver of color around his swollen pupils.  

It felt like all the eyes in the bar were on him and he had a fucking beacon on his hard on.  He found himself picturing everyone in the bar naked, hard, and touching him… fucking him…  It was like his mind was turning against him.  That crawling bug in his head that hadn’t left him alone had pupated and turned into a monster devouring all other rational thought.  

He had to do it.  Maybe if he went through with it and found a guy and did what he’d been obsessing over, he could get it out of his system once and for all.  It’s not like he was the first queer guy in the military – other fellas did this kind of thing on the down low and then went back to pretending nothing was wrong.  The other Howlies weren’t even here.  No one had to know.  One and done.

Bucky abandoned the bar; liquor wasn’t what he needed.   

* 

The earlier downpour had exhausted itself to hazy, pervasive spittle and large remnant puddles, but the cold misty rain was no longer enough to abate Bucky’s raging arousal.  Between the overcast skies and the wartime blackout, even a city as large as London seemed ominously empty and dead.  But in his current mindset, Bucky was thankful for the illusion of privacy, although he wasn’t the only one who had thought to take advantage of the sense of anonymity the blackout granted: he caught sight of a few other soldiers walking the streets, heads down and avoiding eye contact.  Bucky idly wondered if the fact that Fort Griffiss was pretty damn close to the notorious West End “Fruit Stands” was even a coincidence

It didn’t take him long to spot what he needed: a silhouette of a slender young man leaning against a darkened lamppost; he might as well have been wearing a price tag.  Bucky whet his lips, hesitating one last time as need warred with self-loathing.  By going through with this, he was accepting the fact that he was queer.  But he didn’t know how much longer he was going to be able to hold out; his condition had been getting progressively direr since France.  He couldn’t imagine what he would be like tomorrow if he didn’t go through with this.  His arousal hadn’t even abated in the slightest from when Susan was riding him.  It was like he was shackled three steps away from the edge of orgasm and this was the only key to his release.  Not to mention it was only thanks to the pervasive wetness of the air that the damp spot on the front of his trousers from leaking precome wasn’t more obvious than it already was.  Going back to base like this just wasn’t an option; doing this with a stranger and exorcising this perversion was better than Steve seeing what had become of him.  

Setting his jaw, Bucky approached the man, fighting the urge to seize him by the collar and tear the clothes off of him right there in the street.  

A languid smile crossed his face as he raised his eyes to meet Bucky’s, “You Yanks, keep getting ‘lost’ in the dark, hmm?” he said with a chuckle, then flicked a glance downwards. “They don’t give you boys enough shore leave, do they?”  Bucky already wanted to punch him in the face.  

“Look, let’s just get this over with,” Bucky seethed through clenched teeth.

“Such a romantic.” He said, flipping rain-drenched bangs from his eyes.  “But that’s all right, soldier…“ He canted his hips, giving Bucky a second look of appraisal as he drew a little closer, his pupils expanding as he all but purred, “You caught me in a good mood.  And for a couple a pounds, I can put you in one too.”

“Yeah, yeah, okay.  I don’t need a fucking pick up line – let’s just do this.” 

He scoffed, “So eager!  But not out here.  Follow me.”  He strode past Bucky, heading around the corner towards a tight alleyway.  
  
Bucky wasn’t more than a few steps into the alley, when the man pressed him against wall and dropped to his knees.  “Tsk, look at you.  You really are hard up, aren’t you?  Don’t worry; I’ll take good care of you.”   
  
Bucky’s heart raced.  This wasn’t right.  God, he was so fucking broken if even what this daffodil was offering wasn’t what he needed.  But he was already working open Bucky’s belt by the time he forced the words out of his mouth, “No wait- I – can I taste you instead?”

The fucker actually laughed.  But before Bucky could make a fist, he spoke up, “Me?  Yeah, alright mate.  You’re still paying me though, right?” Oh hell, of course it wasn’t fucking normal to pay someone else to go down on them.  He stood up, smiling like the cat that ate the canary as he took Bucky’s place against the brick wall. “Have at.  This will be a nice change of pace. Don’t even have to wank it tonight.”  

Bucky wanted to protest.  He wanted to give this son of a bitch a piece of his mind for having the gall to rib him when he was a fucking hustler.  But instead the words vanished from his mind as he found himself dropping to his knees and suddenly at eye-level with his crotch.  His hands moved to his fly, and god, he could feel it through the fabric: hard and warm and inviting.  His own cock gave another throb as his pulse pounded in his ears, thankfully drowning out whatever else the man was saying.  

_Please, please let me hate this._ Bucky silently prayed as he worked the man’s erection free of his trousers.  _Let me get this over with and be rid of this curse._

And there it was: right in front of his nose, flushed pink and veiny.  The aroma was intoxicating, luring him closer as Bucky’s lips felt tingly and swollen as they ached for the weight of it between them. 

He squeezed his eyes shut and took him into his mouth.  

And _Oh_.  

Bucky nearly sobbed around the hot flesh at how good it tasted and amazing it felt.  His tongue wiped experimentally over the head, thrilling at the salty, musky, perfect ambrosia of the precome.  This was it: this was exactly what he had needed; only he needed more.  So much more.  Greedily, his lips wrapped around his girth, sucking earnestly as he braced his hands on either side of the man’s hips.  

“You must’ve done this before, mate,” The words filtered through his haze, but Bucky didn’t have the cognizance to do anything other than shake his head adamantly as he continued pulling at him, running his tongue up and down the veins along the underside.  He might as well have been giving himself a blowjob with how good he felt.

“Then you’re quite the natural.” The voice spoke of skepticism.  Anger rankled Bucky, but that was a distant second to what he was doing.  Bucky couldn’t stop.  It was too intoxicating.  And after Bucky swallowed down his entire shaft, the man’s irritating words devolved into a mess of moans.  Good.

It wasn’t long before the cock was twitching and pulsing between Bucky’s talented lips, and then it hit him: it was like the fucking clouds above parted as pure, hot ecstasy in liquid form shot down his throat.  In concert, Bucky came, but it was more than just an orgasm.  He crowed in joy as he was awash in a heady rush of pleasure filling every fiber of his being.  It was steak for a starving man: not just filling an appetite but imbuing him with everything he ever needed but didn’t know he was missing.  

He rolled back onto his heels, wiping at his mouth and gasping as he reeled from the sensation.  It was like a fucking puzzle piece had clicked into place, because that was it.  That was exactly what he had been craving.  And he felt So. Much. Better. Blissful, floating, and finally – fucking finally – satisfied. 

He’d heard once that queers had a pleasure center in their throats, and Bucky’s subconscious, desperately clinging to the concept that that reaction wasn’t really fucking weird, supposed it must be true.  So that was it.  He was queer.  Or, maybe, _hopefully_ , whatever Hydra had done to him was finished now, and he could go back to a normal fucking life.  Or, at least, as normal as it got being in the middle of a war halfway across the world with your best pal-turned-super-soldier.   

“Christ, if you ever wind up blue-carded, you’ve got a hell of a back-up job, soldier!”

“Shut the fuck up.” Bucky stumbled to his feet, dug a few bills out of his pocket, and threw them at his shoes before stalking out of the alley.

Bucky hated the squelching feeling in his drawers from having come in his pants like a damn teenager.  He hated the fact that even the remnant taste of cum on his tongue was better than fucking chocolate – and Bucky loved chocolate.  But most of all, Bucky hated the fact he had given in to this.  But, amazingly, he felt clear-headed; so much so that he realized just how crazy he had felt the last several days by comparison.  The chill in the air seemed more acute, the details of the buildings and other features of the street seemed sharper; he could hear the distant sound of barking dogs and smell the rain in the air.  It was like he had been lifted out of a fog and was seeing clearly again.  

Too clearly.  

He needed to fix that asap with as much alcohol as it took to take the taste of cum out of his mouth and forget what he had just done. 

  
*

As it turned out, the bastards kicked him out of the bar at 2am, and six drinks was nowhere near enough to get him as drunk as he needed to be.  Fucking wartime scam artists watering down the liquor.  

So Bucky hoofed it back to base, slipped back into Hut 17 and made his way to the bunk he’d claimed. 

He shouldn’t have been surprised when he saw a familiar form, still awake and reading through a pile of paperwork in the dim lighting of the moonlight through the window, in the bunk right next to the one he’d claimed.  

“Did you wait up for me, ma?” Bucky teased in a whisper.

Steve looked up, his face quirking into a bemused smile.  “Geez, Buck, did you take a bath in whisky?” 

“I think it’s the drink that took the bath.” Bucky made a face, “I think it was more water than whisky.”

“So what was her name?” Steve cut through his bullshit. 

“Susan.  Great gal.  You shoulda come.”  Steve should most certainly not have come, but Steve did work too hard.

“Nah, Buck.  But already I can tell that the information we gathered in Germany is gold.  Gabe’s only translated a segment of the manifest, but we’re going to be planning a full, multi-part campaign based on this intel!”  
  
“That’s great, Steve.” Bucky couldn’t have cared less right then.  Sure, in a week when they were back on the road, he’d care a hell of a lot, but right now he wanted to sleep and he didn’t want to face Steve with the memory of sucking cock fresh on his mind.  “But, you know, if we’re going to be heading off for a while, you really should take this downtime to write Peg.”

“Yeah, I know – I will, I promise.  I just need to go over some of this material before the debriefing tomorrow.”  Steve side-eyed him.  “That should be fun for you tomorrow with the hangover you’re going to be nursing.”

Awesome.  Bucky had completely forgotten about the fucking debriefing.  At least the sniper on the team generally didn’t have a whole hell of a lot to contribute.  If he was lucky, he could keep his yap shut and sit in the back.  “Don’tcha know, I’m immune to hangovers?”

Steve couldn’t keep from barking a laugh.  “Yeah, right.  Tell that to the time we went out on New Years of ‘40 and you had work the next morning.  You acted like you had the plague!”

“What are you talking about, Stevie?  I was totally sick: spontaneous case of a stomach flu; that absolutely wasn’t a hangover.”

“Yeah right, and if I believe that, you’ve got the Brooklyn Bridge to sell me, huh?”

“Shut the FUCK up and get to sleep.  Some of us gotta work in the morning, you damn layabouts!” A voice called from across the barracks.

Bucky gave Steve a ‘what can you do’ shrug and slipped into his bunk.

His sleep that night was blissfully dreamless. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much to Kamiki for extra help with this chapter – she was invaluable in helping co-write this one!


	15. Chapter 15

To Bucky’s credit, he was in fact hangover-free in the morning.  He slept well, woke clear-headed, and damn if he wasn’t even attentive and participatory for the debriefing.  Okay, so ‘participatory’ might have technically meant making dumb faces to see if he could get Steve to laugh while the Colonel’s back was turned, or occasionally giving him a surreptitious kick under the table if he couldn’t.  Because apparently he was still in grade school and not at war when he was in a good mood and eager to rub in Steve’s face how not-hungover he was.  And so what if a small part of his childish bullshit was to distract himself from the memories of what he gave into the night before and the unsettlingly mind-blowing orgasm? 

But memories notwithstanding, Bucky felt like he was back to his old self.  The bug seemed to be gone from his head, leaving him free to ponder whatever it was he wanted without a gut-punch of desire coming out of nowhere and commandeering his brain.  Well, no more so than a normal twenty-something year old red-blooded man at least.  He even found himself sometimes thinking about Josette, Susan, and some of the girls from back in Brooklyn with no distractions.  And so if that was the extent of his problem, then Bucky was just fine with moving on and pretending like it had never happened.  Steve would never even have to know.  

Bucky even joined other guys when they went out carousing a few nights later.  Falsworth took them to a favorite pub of his, but not before chiding Bucky for being too impatient to wait for him to take him to ‘decent places’.  But Bucky found himself able to relax, joke and kid with the Howlies as he knocked back drinks, even though they were just as watered down in the pub Monty vouched for.  He danced till the small hours of the night, met a great gal named Lucy, and proved to himself that the problem he had had with Susan was a one-time fluke.  

But whoopee time aside, they did put their week on base to good use: Stark came through with more upgraded weapons and toys, they had the chance to send letters home, and Steve, Monty, and Gabe turned out to make a damn good strategy team.  Thanks to the manifest and other materials liberated from the Hydra bunker, they plotted out a full campaign that would take a circuitous route through occupied France.  They would hit minor bases along the way to a facility that, based on the amount of materials funneling into it, promised to be a significant target.  If plans went well, the smaller strikes would cripple the supply chain and ultimately weaken the infrastructure of the larger base just outside of Paris itself.  That was about as much as Bucky knew about the plan, and that was aces in his book: give him a gun, show him where to go, and let him do his magic.  

And it had been fucking magic.  A week on the road and Bucky had never been as on his game before.  During their raids on smaller supply bunkers, Bucky picked off Hydra agents as easily as if they had been ducks in a shooting gallery at Coney Island.  When they ambushed a supply vehicle, Bucky made a crack shot taking out the driver from his sniper’s nest a thousand meters away.  His hands never shook, keeping the scope perfectly still as he lined up the shots.  He had no trouble adjusting between a spot with his naked eye on the field and transitioning to finding it a second later through the scope of his rifle.  Maybe the additional tweaks Stark had done to his rifles were giving him that extra edge.  Although, that couldn’t explain the couple of times he sighted targets during the hazy hours of dawn and dusk when the hidden Hydra agents should have been nearly invisible.  Or the time he swore he heard a faint throat-clear while on watch that ended up revealing a scout nearly fifty meters from their camp.   
  
But Bucky didn’t pay it much mind; it just plain made sense that he was getting better through practice, and of course he was performing better when he wasn’t also fighting off a fucking mental assault.  As far as Bucky was concerned, he was fucking cured, and he refused to even consider the alternative.  He was just being paranoid.  Why the hell would he question actually feeling goodfor once?  And if the Howlies thought anything was amiss, they certainly never said anything.  In fact, during down-time, Dugan had even taken to making wagers on whether or not Bucky could hit increasingly smaller and distant targets.  He was about to earn a damn sawbuck before Steve caught them and scolded them for wasting ammo, the spoilsport.  It’s not like they hadn’t just found a huge cache of ammo along with other weapons, supplies, and unsettlingly, some compounds that Dernier identified as potential components for chemical weapons during the last raid.  After Dernier showed them how to denature the chemicals, they torched them and everything else they couldn’t carry from the facility. 

Still, Bucky rolled his eyes.  “Dad’s putting a kibosh on the fun.  And just when I was gonna win, too.” 

“Sure, Barnes.  Looks more like Cap just saved your ass to me.”  

Bucky slapped a hand to his chest, mock-wounded.   

“Okay, hotshots.  If wasting the good money of the men and women back home buying war bonds isn’t enough motivation for you two to cut out your shenanigans, think about how far off people can hear those rifle blasts,” Steve lectured.  
  
“Come off it, Steve.  We thoroughly scouted out the area before we settled on this campsite.  We’re miles from the main roads, and there aren’t even any signs of anything more than animals using the trails round here.  And sides, it’s good practice!”  Bucky didn’t even hide the whine in his voice.

“If you’ve got so much energy, Buck, you can share the dead shift with me tonight on watch.”  Steve grinned like a fucking cat. 

Dugan guffawed, slapping Bucky on his back.  “Looks like we won’t even need to draw cigarettes tonight.  Thanks, Sarge!  I can actually get some rest!”

“Naw, that’s good.  I didn’t need uninterrupted sleep or anything.  Keep your sniper with bags under his eyes.  Great plan, Captain!” But Bucky was grinning through his bitching.  He’d been sleeping well lately, and even after marching for most of the day, Bucky felt like he had energy to spare.   
  
Steve elbowed him in the ribs before heading off.  “Gabe’ll have supper in about fifteen.  I’ll see you back at camp.”

“How much you want to bet Steve convinces Gabe to sneak some of those damn rutabagas we found into my bowl?  He knows I hate them.” Bucky snorted after Steve was out of sight. 

“Hey, least you’ve been in a better mood since you got laid, Barnes.  You were a real ass when you were hard up for it.”  
  
“What?” Bucky spluttered, caught off guard, face going red – had Dugan learned somehow about him and the guy in the alley?!

“Back in London!” Dugan laughed with a shake of his head, “We ain’t idiots.  I can’t think of any other reason you were in such a tear to get off to town when it was pouring rain.  And you were all but whistling Dixie the next morning.  You know, if you ever need a few minutes of personal time, you can just say so.  You really think it takes me fifteen minutes to take a shit?” 

“Aw, Dugan – c’mon – I don’t need to know that.  That’s not an image I can just scrub from my brain.”  
  
“Seriously.  I know it ain’t the same thing as the touch of a woman, but if it keeps you from being a real jackass, then do what you gotta do.”

Well, thank God Dugan obviously hadn’t made the connection that he had been with a guy, but still.  Hopefully it wasn’t ever going to be a problem again.  “Uh, thanks?” What the hell else was he supposed to say to that?

“You’re welcome!” Dugan crowed.  “Well, I don’t know about you, but I could eat a damn ox. I’m heading back to camp to make sure I don’t get the last scrapings of stew.”

*

Sure enough, there were rutabagas in his bowl that night.  Damn things gave the whole bowl of stew a nasty, bitter flavor, but he ate it anyway because he was fucking starving.  Bucky got even by picking them out and flicking each sliver, one by one, at Steve.  The first one landed square in the middle of that bullseye of a star on his chest.  Steve ignored it.  The second one stuck to the dumbass “A” on his helmet.  Still, Steve pretended as if he hadn’t noticed.  When the third one landed smack-dab into Steve’s open mouth, he finally got a reaction; just maybe not the one he was hoping for.  Steve chewed, swallowed, and grinned back at him.  
  
“If you didn’t like your rutabagas, Buck, you coulda just told me.  I’d be glad for your share of rations tonight.  You know how hungry I get.” The punk tried to play off all innocent like.  
  
“Oh yeah?  Hey, Morita: did you wind up with these damn things in your bowl?”  
  
“Course I did.  I love rutabagas.”  Morita deadpanned.  Bucky’s eyes narrowed suspiciously.

“Yeah, if you didn’t like the stew, Barnes, you could have just said so to my face.  You don’t have to insult my cooking like this by throwing your food.” Gabe was in on it, the traitor.

<“I was the one who found them.  You should be thanking me, Sergeant – it is hard to find edible vegetables in the French countryside this season.  Or do you want to just keep eating stale D rations?>” Dernier added with a twinkle in his eye. They were _all_ in on it.  The bastards!  Steve probably told Dernier at some point that Bucky hated them and made a point to try to find some.  
  
“You damn finks!” Bucky hollered as he made a grab for Steve’s bowl.   
  
There was not a rutabaga to be seen.

He slowly raised his eyes to Steve, triumphant declaration on his tongue when Steve snatched both bowls back away from him and made to eat them both. 

It got messy quick.  But by the end of it, fortunately there was enough salvaged stew so they didn’t wind up going to bed hungry.  And hell, they probably needed a break like that after a week’s worth of marching through dangerous territory.  It had been far too long since he’d seen Steve unwind and actually laugh.  That was more than worth the stew stains that would be stinking up his jacket for days. 

*  
  
Like every night they were in risky territory, the Howling Commandos split the night into three shifts of four hours each, two men at a time.  Every night, the lucky bastard who got to sleep through the whole night rotated, on account of there being seven of them.  Except for Steve.  Steve always took a shift at watch, and always the hardest middle shift, saying that the serum made it so he didn’t need as much rest.  Bucky wasn’t so sure about that, but no one could convince him otherwise.  The sucker who had to share the dead shift with Steve was usually a result of who drew the burned cigarette, and Bucky was a lucky son of a bitch, so this was the first night in a while he’d shared shifts with Steve.  

But when dead shift was up, despite only having had four hours of sleep, Bucky woke rested and alert.  But that wasn’t an unusual skill for a soldier to develop on the field; wake up to enough gunshots and bomb blasts and even the laziest of men could become a light sleeper and early riser.  
  
The fire was long extinguished: even with a cleared radius of the campsite, it wasn’t worth the risk.  But between the moonlight and reflected gleam of the snow, it was plenty bright enough, just damn cold.  Bucky huddled in his peacoat, taking a seat beside Steve after Morita and Falsworth bedded down for their uninterrupted eight hours of sleep. 

“So, things must be going good with you and Peggy seeing as you already seem to be playing at being a father.”  Bucky said, prodding a rueful elbow into Steves side.  

“Jesus, Buck,” he said with a nervous laugh, rubbing the back of his neck as he diverted his eyes.  “Let’s not put the cart before the horse, eh?”

“Yeah yeah, I’m just saying, pal – you can be a real wet blanket sometimes.”  He huffed a sigh, “I guess someone’s gotta be, and you have taken to this whole Captain thing real well.” 

Steve shrugged, looking over to Bucky with his lop-sided smile.  “I don’t mean to brag, but I think I’m pretty good at it,” he mused.

Bucky laughed, trying to smother it so he didn’t wake the others.  “Yeah, yeah you punk.  You are pretty good at it.  I think you always were, just now people listen to what you tell them.”  Something about the hushed tones, dead of night, and Bucky actually being in a good mood seemed to bring out a candidness that usually was covered with at least three layers of bullshit.  Maybe it reminded him of the sleepovers they used to have once upon a time.    

“Thanks, Bucky,” he said genuinely.  “I’m still surprised sometimes,” he admitted, “That people are willing to listen so easily.  I mean, I’m glad, but I wish more people saw it before.  Some did, you know.  You did.  Peggy, Erskine...”

Bucky’s mouth twisted with a hint of distaste.  Yeah, course they listened now.  It was shitty how people didn’t give him the time of day when he was a skinny slip of a thing, but the same guy in this body and suddenly he was the big cheese.  How hard he could punch didn’t make a lick of difference about how well he could make a plan or if he was doing the right thing, but people acted like it did.  And Steve deserved to be with someone who saw the real him and not just the muscles or good looks.  The fact Peggy saw that before he was big just cemented that.  “Seriously, though, did you write her back in London like you promised?”

Steve gave him a side-glance, failing to hide his smile when their eyes met.  The look made Bucky feel just a little bit bubbly.  “Yes,” he finally admitted with a shy smile.

“Now we’re onto something!  What’d you say?” Bucky prodded. 

Steve rolled his shoulders dramatically. “I dunno, Bucky...” he whined, sounding just like he did the every time Bucky had prodded him about a dame since sixth grade.  “Just... stuff?” he tried.

Bucky couldn’t help but snort affectionately.  Even giant, it was still Steve.  “Stuff, huh?  Dames love stuff.”

“Damn straight dames love stuff,” he laughed, putting a hand over his mouth.  “I don’t know, I mean, I don’t want to be too presumptuous or anything.  It was just...” he paused, thinking, “...friendly.”  
  
Bucky nodded, smile quirking at the side of his lips.  He missed talking to Steve like this.  “Good.  I mean, not that I saw your letter or nothing, but it could probably be better knowing you and dames and all.  But that Peggy – I think she’s got some kind of super vision to cut through the bullshit.  I think going friendly – genuine – it’s probably a good thing.”  He stretched, glancing out over the moonlit snow.  “But if you ever need my expertise composing a real steamy love note, all you gotta do is ask.”  
  
“No no, you’re not roping me into another one of those Cyrano de Bergerac ploys of yours.  That never ends well.  Well, for me.  For you...”  
  
“Hey, I had the best of intentions!” Bucky protested, raising his hands, “it’s not my fault Betty Morris figured out I was the one writin’ them.  Sides, you’re the one with the big schnoz!”

“I have a ‘distinguished profile,” he said with a nudge of his shoulder, “Not a ‘big schnoz’” he insisted, mocking insult.

Bucky was having a hard time not completely losing it.  Had the Howlies not been sleeping nearby, Bucky didn’t think he’d be able to hold it in.  “Well now you’ve got a big everything.”  Bucky grinned a moment before flushing red.  That’s not what he meant.  Well, he didn’t know for sure, but … but, well he had imagined.  Bucky hoped he didn’t catch his faux pas, but nope, Steve turned just as red and ran his hands through his hair.   
  
Shit.   
  
Bucky quickly tried to redirect before things got more awkward.  “Is it still weird for you sometimes?”

Steve cleared his throat and looked down at his swollen body.  “Oh yeah,” he admitted, “definitely.”  He flexed, for emphasis, and for showing off to Bucky, “Feel like a damn bull in a china shop sometimes.”

Bucky’s eyes lingered on the swell of his bicep.  It was… it was uncanny is what it was.  He swallowed, “Well, you’re putting it to good use.  Hell, it’s certainly better not knowing your strength punching Hydra goons than bullies.”  
  
With Steve’s new size, in addition to the respect of the soldiers, it meant that he put himself into the most risky positions and took on the hardest jobs because he knew he could.  Steve didn’t think he had any excuse not to push himself as hard as he could, because everyone else at war did.  It rankled Bucky, especially when he had been in a bad mood back in Germany.  Because even if Steve didn’t seem to think he was more important than the next guy, to Bucky he sure as hell was.  Steve was always capable, even when he was little he was a lot tougher than he looked, but Bucky liked being a back-up.  If Steve got himself into real trouble now, would Bucky be able to help him out of it?  

At least, as a sniper, it put him in a better position to do so than most.  

“You know, when this first happened…” Steve’s expression ghosted into sadness, pulling Bucky from his thoughts, “After Hydra assassinated Erskine…” his expression neutralized, focusing on the memory, “I was laying chase and, hand to God, missed a turn and ran straight into a bridal shop window,” he breathed out with a chuckle.  “Like a damned chimpanzee on a unicycle I felt like.”

Bucky grinned, picturing the scene clear as day.  “I don’t know if our tiny flat in Brooklyn will be up to snuff any more for the two of us.” Bucky tried to play it off lightly, but the idea that no matter what happened, things would never go back to being the same unsettled him.  “Not that I even know if you’d want to after all of this.  If you had the choice on this all being permanent or not, what would you choose?”

In every fantasy about the future Bucky ever had, Steve was there by his side, their lives still comingled just as much as they were as bachelors in Brooklyn.  Sure, he always figured they’d probably both settle down with dames, but those were the faceless figures in those fantasies: the details unknown and unimportant.  But, now that he met Peggy and saw the real connection between her and Steve, would Steve even want to still be palling around him after the war was over?  Assuming he and Peggy got hitched and pumped out a few kids, would Bucky turn into a third wheel?  He had always assumed it would be the two of them against the world, but the world seemed so much bigger than either of them now.  
  
 “God, I don’t know…” he said, pursing his lips and adjusting his seat.  “I mean, it’s more than just the fact that I’m bigger now,” he admitted, considering.  “I’m not sick anymore, Bucky.  I don’t have to worry that I’ll have to move to Phoenix by the time I’m 35 or else risk dying of pneumonia.  And I can actually make a difference now!” he justified, looking back over at Bucky seriously.  “As much as you can say all day long that I was just as good before, what good is that if you can’t make a difference?  The fire may have always been there, but now I have the tools to use it.”

Bucky frowned, this was the first time he’d heard Steve mention moving.  “What are you talking about: moving to Phoenix?  That’s some bullshit.  I can’t picture you living out there in the desert like some kinda prairie dog or something.”  But his stomach squirmed.  He knew Steve got sick; most every winter, too.  But he always pulled through.  Yeah, there’d been some close calls, even a few times that he had Bucky really worried, but had he really been at that much risk?  He eyed Steve.  Course, like he ever would have told him if he was, the stubborn bastard.  It was probably why he’d been so gung ho to join the military, even before he was big.  Even if he died out here on his first day, he’d probably feel like he was dying for more than a reason than catching a cold.  He always fucking idolized his dad for dying out at war... And could Bucky blame Steve for relishing actually being able to do the things he always dreamed of?  Bucky would be a rotten friend if he was sore about any part of that.  “Just don’t forget about yourself in all that difference you’re trying to make for other people.  If you’re not careful, they’re going to have you fighting for them till you’re six feet under.”   
  
What with Steve being Captain America and all, assuming the serum was permanent would they even let him quit?  

Steve gave a dramatic shrug.  “Hopefully not.  Looks like the war is turning in our favor now that the Big Guns are involved.”

Bucky hoped he was right.  “Just do me a favor, pal: if you ever do retire out to Arizona, take me with you.  I still want to see the Grand Canyon.  Especially after doing so much traveling through Europe, makes me sad I’ve only ever seen a tiny speck of America.  Assuming you still want me hanging around, that is.”

Steve barked an incredulous gasp, “I ain’t retiring to Arizona,” he said, looking back over, “But believe you me, I’d be down for a long cross-country road trip with ya once this ugly business is over,” he said wistfully, just a hint of his desire to go home showing.  “And what the hell do you mean by that?”

“Now you’re talking: you, me, and the open road.  I’m gonna hold you to that, Steve, because that sounds pretty fucking perfect.”  He hesitated for a moment before turning on a smarmy grin to make light of his insecurities.  “Well, what with you being Mr. Popular all of a sudden, I just want to make sure you aren’t settling for a pain in the ass like me as a best friend.”  
  
“What makes you think I’d want it any other way, Bucky?”  The warm, genuine smile was back on Steve’s face as he looked him in the eyes.

Bucky was glad the other Commandos were asleep because he could tell that a sappy smile had found its way onto his face.  He shook his head, but couldn’t shake the smile that clung tenaciously to his mouth, or the warm feeling that coiled around his heart.  “Just checking.  You know – have to make sure the fame didn’t go to your head.”  He said as he bumped Steve with his shoulder.  
  
“Nah,” Steve said, waving it off nonchalantly. “You said it yourself.  You’re following that dumb kid from Brooklyn who didn’t know how to back away from a fight.  You’re still here, aintcha?”  

  
“Damn right I am.”  And it was true; Bucky was genuinely happy that he could be here with Steve now, seeing him happy, in his element, and making a difference.  The realization hit Bucky that he’d follow Steve through hell if it came to it. And was it really just because he admired Steve, believed that he always put his all on the line for a truly good reason, and wanted to help? Even Bucky knew that was a flimsy excuse.  Their friendship was about so much more than just the scrapes they got in and out of together.  It was the quiet moments: the evenings when Steve was drawing and Bucky practiced dance moves on squeaky floorboards, the daydreams and stories they created together, and the way their lives fit around each other.  He never wanted that to end.  And if that wasn’t fucking love, well, then Bucky didn’t know what was.  “You got me as long as you’ll have me.  Till the end of the line, pal.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for Kamiki with helping co-write this chapter with me with the Steve interaction! :D


	16. Chapter 16

It wasn’t out of his system. 

Just a week and a half after sharing watch with Steve, thinking that everything was back to being normal – or at least the closest approximation his life had to normal now - and it was back.  He should have fucking known.  

So it wasn’t as bad as it was in London, not yet at least, but Bucky had the crawling sensation that it was probably headed that direction.  It had started out with more dreams a few nights ago.  Vivid memories of the back alley in the West End that Bucky had been trying to make a point to forget about  came flooding back: nearly every detail about how positively life-changing the experience had been, how every cell in his body seemed to light up as he orgasmed, and the heady rush as the taste of cum splashed over his tongue and down his throat.  The dreams persisted every damn night and he found himself missing it when he let his guard down during the next few days, for fuck’s sake.  And when he had gone off into the bushes to take care of business, it had helped take some of his edge off, but even as he jerked off he remembered how it had been so much better with a cock in his mouth. 

He didn’t know what he was going to do, IF he was going to do anything about it.  Besides, it wasn’t like he could do much about it now even if he decided to; not if he didn’t want to risk his neck looking for a guy to blow deep in occupied territory. 

But he’d been down this road before.  He knew where it was leading him: he could hold off and hold off until he was half mad with lust and had no choice but to give in.  Bucky was scared to think about what would have happened to him if he hadn’t relented when he had back in London.  Already he could tell it was starting to escalate, but he should still have time before mission critical.  They were due back in London in about a week, and the assault on the main Hydra base stood between them and leave.  He could make it that long.  

But that wasn’t the fucking point.  He couldn’t believe he was here, cooped up in a dim, smoky basement of one of Dernier’s French Resistance allies, _planning_ on when he was going to go find himself a queer hook-up.  Because if it – whatever _it_ was- was back, then that meant it wasn’t a one and done.  It wasn’t out of his system, it wasn’t cured; Hydra had actually changed something in him.  Maybe it was a fuck-up and instead of dying like the other poor bastards they had experimented on they had turned him into some kind of cockslut invert.  Or maybe this was their intention all along, and they were trying to derive a weapon to turn on the military so they’d be too busy fucking each other to put up any kind of resistance. 

“Come on, Barnes, it’s your turn: raise or fold?” Gabe prodded.

Bucky blinked, glancing down at his hand.  Iroincally, he’d managed to cobble together a straight.  If only his luck in life was as good as it was when he was playing cards. 

“I’ll raise three smokes.” Bucky said, slapping three cigarettes down on the table.  The basement of the LeSueur household and bakery had been converted into a meeting place for the resistance fighters, and over time it had turned into a makeshift bar and gambling den as well as storing supplies for the war.  Or, in tonight’s case, house small groups of allied soldiers passing through.  It was a tight fit for the group of them, reeked of alcohol and cigarette smoke mixed with fresh yeast, but it was kind of perfect. 

“Screw that,” Morita huffed as he lay down his cards, “I’m not giving Barnes any more chocolate from my D rations.  I’m out.”

“Yeah, thanks for that, Jim!” Bucky grinned as he popped a square in his mouth.  

<“Yeah, I dunno about that.  Maybe you just got quick eyes or quicker hands.  Never seem to get the dead shift pull, either.”> Dernier grumbled half-audibly.  

But before Bucky could speak up, Steve did for him, “Bucky’s a lucky son of a bitch, but he’s no cheater.”  

“Yeah, Dernier – if your hand’s crap, you can just fold or bluff like the rest of us.  Steve can’t bluff to save his life but you don’t hear him complaining.” 

“Hey!”  Steve protested, but as if to prove Bucky’s point, he couldn’t keep the grin off of his dumb face.  

“Aw, c’mon,” Dugan said, taking a draw of his cigarette, “Cap gets paid more than the rest of us schmucks; he can afford to lose some on the table.”  
  
“Is that one of the smokes from your wager, Dum Dum?” Gabe exasperated.  “Can’t play a good hand of poker with you clowns when you’ve been drinking.”

“You mean you haven’t been drinking enough!“ Dum Dum guffawed. 

“Allright, Dugan’s obviously is folding, so I’m gonna call it.” Gabe said with a roll of his eyes.  “I’ve got two pair, kings high.”

Falsworth grinned “Three queens!  I’m finally going to nab that paperback I swear you’ve read a dozen times, Barnes.”

“Sorry, guys, pot’s mine.  Straight from 4 to 8.  And you’re never prying my Heinlein from my fingers.”  Bucky grinned around his chocolate morsel.  It had just gotten to the positively melty part, coating his tongue and tingling his taste buds.  And of course that reminded Bucky of something else that tasted positively amazing on his tongue.  He leaned forward to gather up his winnings, using the motion to disguise the resituating of his stirring erection. 

“Yeah, all right, fine.  Take it, it’s yours.  But I know who I’m coming to when I run out of cigs.”  
  
“You’re assuming I won’t have smoked them all by then.” Bucky teased, pulling one out and lighting it up.  Maybe getting the decadent taste of chocolate out of his mouth and a cool drag would calm his nerves.  But no, wrapping his lips around the stick did nothing but remind him in yet another way of what his – his what? His body? His curse? – was wanting.  Feeling safe and warm in this cloistered basement, getting some real fresh bread from upstairs, having a roof over their heads and relaxing with a pack of Lucky Strikes apparently was sending all the signals to his body that now was a great time to get turned on.  

Morita gathered up the cards and started to shuffle, “All right you assholes, this round’s 5 card stud, since half of you are drunk and so we can keep all our fuckin’ cards on the table, all right?”

“I don’t need five cardsh to be a stud,” Dum Dum slurred.

“Yeah, just five fingers.” Gabe ribbed him back.

Bucky’s eyebrow twitched.  Not again...

<”Did I ever tell you about the gent with just two fingers – but he could make a girl scream when he used them in just the right way?”> Dernier mimed a pinching motion with his index and middle finger and a lewd grin.  
  
Gabe raised an eyebrow, “Just two fingers total? Or two on each hand?”  
  
“Hey, boys, I’m gonna sit this hand out – I gotta go hit the can.” Dum Dum said as he stood and headed towards the stairs.  And Bucky’s mind decided that now was the perfect time to remind him about Dugan’s conversation and what he was probably really excusing himself to do.  His mind’s eye offered up an image of Dugan undoing the buttons of his fly and taking a stout cock into his hands, working the shaft good and hard.  

_You could follow him, offer to help him out.  You wouldn’t have to wait till you’re off mission._

Bucky snubbed out his cigarette, imagining that he was quashing the invasive thought. 

To his left, Falsworth was shifting in his seat.  Bucky blinked, trying not to make it look like he was staring, but the stoic Brit was definitely sporting wood.  Bucky’s mouth was positively watering at the sight of it pressing against his trousers-

He cast his glance to the right.  Steve was being awful quiet, poking his finger through his pile of betting material.  But even in the dim lighting, Bucky spied the blush spreading across his face and creeping down his neck.  

_Even if he hasn’t said anything, you know what he’s thinking._ The thought needled at him. _Do you think he’d say anything if you put your hand in his lap and felt him up?  The rest of the gang is too distracted to probably even notice.  Why don’t you show him just how much you want to make him feel good, that you’ve been here the whole time?  How badly you’d like to have him bend you over the table and fuck you across those playing cards?_  
  
No no no!  
  
He swallowed.  _The back of the truck, now – this isn’t a coincidence.  Fuck – focus, Barnes.  What’s going on?  Stop denying something’s going on and think about this like a damn problem in a schoolbook: what’s this all got in common?_   _Me getting turned on, small group of guys, warm, and close, enclosed quarters._

Bucky looked at the cigarette smoke trapped in the basement, filling it like a mist. _Is it something in the air??_  
  
_Shit, maybe it is._ _Some things in the air can wreak havoc through a fellow’s system don’t even have a scent you can notice_.  
  
Maybe it was him.  Worst case scenarios began to filter through Bucky’s head.  Maybe it was all part of Hydra’s plan.  Maybe it was contagious.  Or at least, maybe some of the lust effects were when it was hitting him hard.  If this was some kind of experimental weapon, wouldn’t that just make sense?  Didn’t need to affect everyone – just send a few guys out like him and- and it would be a fucking orgy.   
  
Bucky’s cock gave an enthusiastic twitch at the notion. 

_No.  Stop it.  This isn’t helping anyone.  Focus.  You’re better than this._

Bucky forced himself to speak up, “All right, you mooks, are you stalling because you’re too chicken to lose to me again?”

“Oh hell no,” Morita took his challenge like bait as he began to deal out cards, one face down, one faced up.  “I’m going to win back some of that damn chocolate.”

“Yeah, you can try,” Bucky countered, deliberately taking helm of the conversation.  He needed a safe topic and quick.  “Wish I could send some of this back home – they’re rationing back there almost as much as we are out here, and my sister Becca loves chocolate almost as much as I do.”  Family: that should do the trick.  

Steve blinked and perked up, “So did you mention in any of those letters back to your folks and sisters about the time you came hollering back into camp with a dozen pissed off geese on your tail?”

“Hey!  How the hell was I supposed to know that the place I was getting firewood from was their nesting grounds?”  

“Least we had good eating that night.” Morita chuckled. 

“Yeah, and bruises all down my leg – those fuckers were mean!” Gabe said with a sore look at Bucky.

“Maybe because you were after them with a knife.” Steve pointed out wryly. 

“Well I got one, didn’t I?” 

Thank God, it was working.  He could feel his heart rate slowing back down and the throbbing in his cock easing.  And, whattaya know, the others were also looking less flushed and more focused as the conversation drifted back into safer waters.  Bucky decided to take that as a win and not think too hard about how much his condition – how much _he_ \- had been able to affect people around him.  

He just needed to focus.  Less than a week and they’d be launching an attack on their biggest Hydra facility yet; he could deal with this afterwards.  

  
  
 


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay it took me a bit to get past a couple of these longer chapters (I try to stay ahead of what I've posted by 2-3 chapters to give me chance to re-read them, edit them, etc) around a lot of RL stuff, but now I've kind of been on a roll, so I'm going to go ahead and post the next one even though it's only been a few days X3.  
> Thank you so much again to everyone leaving comments - new readers and those who have been following along for a while - it really tickles me to be able to share this story with you guys and reading your reactions!

The fight into the Hydra compound outside of Paris had been difficult, but thanks to the assistance from a large cell of French Resistance fighters they had rendezvoused with at the LeSueur bakery, they were making damn good headway.  Some of the Frenchmen had previously risked their necks to get a floorplan with the likely locations of where the dangerous materials were being stored, so Steve and Falsworth were able to fine-tune their battle plan ahead of time.  

They launched their assault as a unified front, timing the attack to best catch the facility off-guard.  However, part of their strategy involved splintering off into three groups as they wound their way through the labyrinthine hallways once they were through the doors.  The teams were based on their individual strengths with their own objectives, each leading a group of their French allies, and each with at least one bilingual French speaker.  Unfortunately, that somehow worked out to Steve leading his own group, because of course Steve had made an argument for that.  Granted, he was right that interior assaults weren’t the time for sniper tactics, and Steve had also wanted Dum Dum and Bucky, the other two Commandos skilled in close-quarter hand to hand techniques, split up among the assault groups.  Bucky had tried to protest, that he should at least take one of the other Howlies with him to watch his back, but he got shut down.  There were more than a dozen good men with him, he had his radio, and well, eventually, orders were orders.   
  
Once inside, the Hydra facility was nothing like the medieval keep that had been his prison in in Austria.  It was well-lit, tightly organized, and nearly sterile; once upon a time, before the German war machine had rolled its way into France, it had been a hospital.  Now, the blight that was Hydra had taken something that had once helped people and converted it into something insidious. 

Strange chemical odors wafted in and out as they made their way deeper into the compound, and gunfire ricocheted off of the white-tiled walls as Bucky crouched behind a corner alongside Dernier and Falsworth.  They were damn close to their team’s target: a large depot of chemicals to make explosives.  

<”The Nazis, they are bad enough.  They have taken France and have been using it like their damn playground.  They pretend to be civilized, but they take what they want.  Artwork, women, it does not matter.  But the Nazis would not allow the creation and storage these dangerous chemicals so close to Paris.  They want to rape her, not destroy her.”>  Dernier spat.  Bucky had never seen Dernier like this before: there was a fire in his eyes; this was personal for him.  

“We’ve been hearing rumors that Hydra might be going rogue – I’m willing to wager that even the Nazis aren’t aware of what this facility is doing here.  They would never approve of nerve agents and explosives being housed here.” Falsworth concurred.

Bucky frowned, taking another glance across the hallway to the open doorway of a surgical room that had been filled with troughs of foul-smelling powders.  As far as they’d gotten into the compound, however, Bucky hadn’t seen a trace of weird runes or other mystical mumbo jumbo.  “I thought this was the facility where some of the weird shit was being sent.”

Monty glanced back at him with a furrow in his brow, “Pardon?  No.  We prioritized the facility with a large influx of dangerous compounds.  The energy cells were heading here, too, along with a number of worrysome chemicals.  The ritualistic materials are disturbing, granted, but you know as well as I do that Hydra’s wasting their resources on that rubbish.  You said so yourself in the debriefings.”

Fuck.  Of course they did.  Realization dawned on Bucky that the feeling coursing through him was frustration and disappointment.  Because if he found another facility like the one in Kreischberg, now that he knew something had been fucked up in him, he might actually be able to figure out what it was they had been trying to do in the first place.  But it’s not like he could _say_ anything to the Howlies about why he wanted to target one of those bases.  Not without explaining what was happening to him, and how every night his dreams kept getting worse.  Sure, he’d been able to get his shit together while on mission this last week, but it was definitely getting more insistent as each day passed where he didn’t give in.  At least, at _least_ , once they were through here, they’d be regrouping for a lift back to an allied base and Bucky could get this out of his system again.  Hell, if Morita, Gabe and Dum Dum’s team was doing well, they’d probably have already hijacked the outside communications and set up the extraction. 

“Sergeant Barnes: are you with us?” Falsworth drew him back to the present.  

“I can lay some cover fire; you two get across the hall into the munitions room.”  

“Roger that.”  

Bucky drew in a breath and held it as his focus sharpened to a fine point.  He flicked his gun into automatic mode and opened fire with a spray of bullets that sent the Hydra goons ducking for cover.  On cue, Falsworth and Dernier hoofed it through the open doors along with half of their support.  Bucky signaled to the rest, shouting in French, <”They’re retreating: drive them back and regroup in the chemical room!”>

Dernier had already cracked open a large case of chemicals and was pouring a stringent-smelling white powder into one of the vats when Bucky backed into the room.  

<”There were enough materials here to make an explosive to level at least seven city blocks.”> Dernier growled as he measured out some clear liquid.  <”This will see to it that it never hurts anyone.”>  
  
Bucky nodded.  “The Hydra soldiers are on the run, we should be-“ Bucky nearly doubled-over as a wave of nausea and pain struck him out of fucking nowhere.  

“Sergeant?  What is it?” concern laced Falsworth’s voice.  

Bucky didn’t know how, but he knew in his gut as sure as he knew his name was James Buchanan Barnes that Steve was in trouble.  

“I gotta go.” Bucky spluttered, racing towards the door as if the room were on fire. 

“What?!  Sergeant – what in God’s name are you doing? We’re in the middle of a bloody battle!”  Falsworth called after him, but Bucky didn’t even hesitate.  It was like he were a fish on a hook being reeled in.  

Worst-case scenarios tumbled through Bucky’s mind as he rushed down the thankfully cleared hallways, save for the occasional prone Hydra soldier.  Steve had gone on – predictably – the most dangerous assignment: into the section of the facility that was suspected of housing chemical weapons.  

Bucky’s blood ran cold as, after a few turns that he took as if he knew the layout of the facility, he began to smell something that twisted his gut.  He paused only long enough to rip two long lengths of fabric off of his undershirt, soak them with his canteen, and wrap one of them around his lower face before he continued running.

The halls were eerily empty, but there was a visible haze to the air that, even with the wet rag around his nose and mouth, made his eyes water.  Something bad must’ve gone down, but for better or worse there was no sign of the French reinforcements.  And then, finally, after another corner he spied him.  Steve was slouched in a corner, not moving.  Chills raced down Bucky’s spine as he skidded to a stop.  _Act now, worry later_ , he spurred himself.  He was on him in a moment, desperately wrapping the other wet cloth around Steve’s nose and mouth.  “No no no – no fucking way.  Not on my watch, Steve!”

Bucky felt like his heart stalled until he saw thankful, bleary eyes crack open and look up at him before a cough wracked his chest as if his lungs were trying to crawl out of his throat.  A much smaller Steve, hacking just as badly as he slouched in the corner of an alley flashed briefly through Bucky’s mind.  The more things change…     
  
“C’mon, pal – we gotta get you outta here.”  Bucky insisted, trying to haul all two hundred and fifty something pounds of red, white, blue, and blonde to his feet.  Maybe it was adrenaline, or maybe Steve wasn’t as bad off as he looked, but he managed to get his shoulder under his arm and get the man upright.  

“Had ‘em on the ropes…” Steve slurred worrisomely.  It looked like he wasn’t the only one getting flashes of Brooklyn. 

Morita’s voice squacked out of Steve’s radio from where he had dropped it, “-Rogers… come in Captain.  Repeat.  Compound is clear, rendezvous at extraction point in sixty-five minutes.  Over.”

Bucky snatched it up, “Barnes here.  I got him. Proceeding to extraction. Over.”

“Bucky~” Steve’s voice wavered in a sing-song before his eyes cleared.   “One of the canisters… bullet pierced…  The others… they got out, but-” He was trying to focus, but another wracking cough interrupted him.

“I got it, pal.  We’re getting your ass outta here, stat.”  

“Had… to stop the leak before it got too bad.  Got it, but not b’fore-“ Steve’s whole body shook as he hacked through the face rag and Bucky started to get him moving, “-not before enough escaped…” His voice trailed off as his eyes unfocused. 

“Yeah, yeah, you saved the fucking day, Steve, you damn reckless idiot.  But you’re not fucking invulnerable.  Now shut up before you make yourself worse.”  The gas probably would have killed most people, and who knew how much of it he breathed in before he stopped the leak and the gas dispersed as much as it had by the time Bucky arrived.  Even now, Steve was sweaty, pale, and unable to walk under his own power. 

One foot after another, Bucky maneuvered Steve through the abandoned hallways. Ironically, the gas that had knocked Steve for a loop had at least ensured that no remaining (conscious) Hydra agents got in his way.  Which was dam lucky, because hauling Steve’s heavy ass to safety didn’t exactly leave him in a very good position to fight.  As familiar as carrying Steve away from a brawl was, he could have dealt with him still being 98 pounds soaking wet.  

Bucky slammed open the door marked ‘ _Sortie_ ’ and was greeted with clear air and starry skies.  From the sounds of distant shouts and stray words, it sounded like their French allies were rounding up the fleeing Hydra agents, but they had a good two clicks to travel to meet up with the other Howling Commandos at the extraction point.  Steve wavered, leaning heavily against his back, his breathing labored behind the cloying cloth. 

“Here – air should be clear now.” Bucky reassured Steve softly as he removed both of their makeshift masks and Steve’s helmet while he was at it.  Steve took in several gulping lungfulls of air, but his blue eyes were still hazy, his hair disheveled and wet with sweat. 

 And _damn_ , he was heavy, but the press of him against his back, his strong arm across his shoulders, and the immediate danger passed: it was giving Bucky all the wrong ideas.  The thoughts had been getting worse over the past week, plaguing him during the day with fantasies about Steve, the other Howlies, or even sometimes some of the French allies whose names Bucky didn’t even know.  But more than anything, it was Steve that Bucky’s mind fell back into thinking about as if he had his own gravity.  The most evocative dreams were scenarios between him and Steve, and right now, this felt like the start of one.  He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, steadying himself against the outside wall of the building as he tried to focus.  

“My hero~” Steve murmured as he buried his face in Bucky’s shoulder and wrapped his arms around his torso. 

“You’re drugged.” Bucky huffed with a chuckle.  He was a little touched, but he was more worried that Steve was still this loopy.  “All right, big guy, we gotta get moving,” Bucky took a breath and pushed them off the wall and into motion again.  

Steve stumbled along with him, his grip secure around his waist and his face rubbing against his neck as Bucky felt his warm exhales send goosebumps all down his back.  “You smell nice…” Steve crooned, his skin having gone from pale to flushed.  

Bucky swallowed, his blood running cold.  God, he must’ve been right – there was some kinda allure in him like a perfume in his sweat or something that had affected the Howlies in the truckbed and in the basement of the bakery.  He couldn’t smell anything, but maybe Steve could with his super senses or something.  

“And you smell like a wet dog.  A sweaty, heavy, dirt and gunpowder-covered dog.” Bucky tried to conjure up the most unsexy image he could to alleviate his building lust.  But unlike back in the bakery, the image was being crowded out by the very real presence of Steve and the complication of being another week deeper into his period of abstinence.  

Steve leaned more heavily against Bucky’s back as they began to move downhill, and – _oh no_.  Bucky gulped.  He wasn’t the only one with a bone on.  

Steve’s voice was breathy, tickling his ear, “’m worried… the asthma’s gonna come back, too, Buck.”  

His breathing was a little shallow after all that coughing and the gas, but, “Whattaya mean, ‘too’, Steve?” Worry tinged Bucky’s voice as he tried to bear a little more of his weight.  “When we get there, we’re gonna get Gabe to take a look at you, OK?”  

“Serum fixed everything… but what if it’s wearing off… something in that canister…” His voice still rattled and wavered in his chest, but his eyes were fixed on Bucky’s now, bright blue and shining against the red of his face.  

“It’s just a nerve agent, pal,” _just_ a nerve agent, fuck.  “Dernier said it’s some kinda poison like mustard gas.  But you’re fuckin’ tough, pal, you’re gonna shake it.”  

Steve continued as if he hadn’t heard Bucky, “Still never kissed a dame.  Been thinking about it more since the serum, since Peggy.  But Bucky – you… used to think about you back in Brooklyn.  When you hit puberty and your shoulders must’ve doubled in width… couldn’t keep my eyes offa them…” 

Shit.  He’d hinted at it before, but Bucky was convinced he must’ve drawn the wrong conclusion with all the other gobbledygook going on in his head.  Bucky never thought – not _really._ He saw the way Steve looked at girls, the way his words fell apart in his mouth when he tried to talk to them.  Guys who didn’t give a damn about girls didn’t get all nerves around them.  But no, Steve was talking about having been queer before the serum.  

_He’s talking about being queer for you NOW_.  

“I haven’t dreamt about you like this in a while, Buck...” Steve whispered and his hand moved to caress Bucky’s jawline, thumb rubbing at his lips.  

Bucky’s mouth fell open.  Guilt flushed him – it was like he was eavesdropping on Steve at a confessional; he wasn’t supposed to be hearing any of this.  But he couldn’t fight back the pounding of his pulse in his ears in time with the throbbing of his cock. Bucky’s lips wrapped around Steve’s thumb and his tongue ran along the soft pad.  The serum wouldn’t let him scar, or even build up calluses.  Every bit of him was probably soft and supple skin over hard muscle.  A terrible voice in his head prodded, _it would be so easy_.  _He thinks he’s dreaming, and afterwards he probably won’t even remember anything happened._

“Always wondered what it’d be like to kiss someone… _really_ kiss someone the way you used to talk about after your dates.  At first I used’ta think what it’d be like kissing the girls you talked about… but then I realized I wanted to be in their places.  When you brought girls home, I heard you some nights, the way you made them moan – I wondered what you did to them to make them feel that way.” Steve’s words cascaded unbidden from his mouth as he leaned in closer, “Why don’t you show me, Buck?”  
  
And then Steve’s thumb was gone and his lips were in its place, and the walls that Bucky had been building for years began to crack.  He melted into Steve’s kiss that was warm and wonderful; sweeter and butterier than chocolate.  Bucky stumbled as Steve shifted, turning his cling into an embrace.  And Bucky knew in his soul that this was everything he had wanted for years.  Bucky’s lips moved, pressing back into Steve’s with want and hunger as his tongue slid into his mouth.  

It was so perfect, so right.  Except… except it _wasn’t_ right.  

Steve was delirious from the gas.  He thought he was dreaming.  He was probably being affected by Bucky’s scent.  Hell, even guys like Dugan got worked up when Bucky did.  _I’m being affected by this, too.  I_ could just stop fighting, let what happens happen-   
  
Steve’s body pressed against him, and Bucky nearly lost it when he felt Steve’s erection rub against his leg.  He wanted it so badly.  Wanted to see it, touch it, _God_ , feel it inside him...  
  
_No_.   
  
Bucky summoned every ounce of his willpower and broke the kiss, deliberately jostling Steve as he once again squared his shoulder under his armpit.   It felt like he was pulling himself away from a font of clean, sweet water when he was parched with thirst.  But Bucky hated himself for being so weak that he had allowed himself to taste Steve’s lips when Steve was compromised.  He would never be able to forgive himself if he took advantage of him any more than he already had.  

“C’mon, Stevie.  We… we gotta get to the rendezvous before they leave without us.” Bucky forced his words out as evenly has he could. 

“Huh…?” Steve blinked, lost, stumbling along with Bucky as he set off walking again.  

“You zoned out there for a few, pal.”  Bucky swallowed tightly, the lie stinging his throat, but the image of the kiss looming in the forefront of his mind.  That memory was never going to go away.  

“I did?  I… oh…”  Steve’s voice still wavered and his pupils were huge, but his brow knit in confusion and doubt was written plainly over his face.

It was better this way, it had to be.  Bucky tried to ignore the guilt that curdled in his stomach.  

“I think you passed out there for a few minutes, but we’re on our way to the extraction point.  .”

“Y-yeah.  I feel… lightheaded. But I think I can walk.”  
  
Bucky didn’t bother to disguise his eye roll.  “Like hell you can.  You got hit pretty hard by that gas, and it ain’t far.  Just take it easy and we’ll be there in no time.” 

Steve was out by the time they made it to the rest of the group, but at least he seemed to be breathing more evenly.  

*

Gabe lifted his ear off of Steve’s chest, addressing the rest of the Howlies, “He got knocked for a loop, but I think he’s going to be okay.”

Falsworth gave Bucky the hairy eyeball.  “How the hell did you know something was wrong?  Morita didn’t come over the radio about not hearing back from the Captain until after you left us.”

“I… I dunno.  I just had a bad feeling.” Bucky spluttered weakly, doubt pooling in his own chest.  How _had_ he known?  
  
“It doesn’t matter.” Gabe said decisively.  “He probably saved Cap’s life.  I’ve heard weirder stories about spooks and premonitions between fellas only half as close as the Sarge and Cap.”  

“But he’s gonna be all right?” Bucky reiterated.

“Yeah, I think so.  His heart rate’s stabilizing, he’s drinking water, and got some charcoal tablets in him.  After some rest he should be fine if the serum’s half as potent as I’ve heard.”

Bucky nodded, a sigh of relief escaping him.  That had been too close.  Not just the gas, but what almost happened between the two of them.  He couldn’t keep going like this.  Sooner or later, he’d fuck up and do something they’d both regret.  Either Steve would notice, or worse: Steve would actually let him do something with him and he’ll have ruined him and his chances at the life he fucking deserved.  This… _curse_ wasn’t going away, and he couldn’t let it get this bad again, even if it meant taking some risks if they were out for another stretch this long.  He had to stay on top of this until… until what?  

  
He needed to keep an eye out for more information as they battled Hydra was what.  Bases, depots, officers: somewhere or someone had to have information about what they did to him or how to get to people who did.  And if he figured out what they had done, then maybe, just maybe, he could figure out how to fix it.  It wasn’t much, but it was at least some kinda basic plan.  Something he could _do_ other than just giving into what they’d done to him.  It was another intelligence-gathering mission and some way to fight back, even if he had to keep it secret from the rest of the guys.    
 


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s Time Skip time, ya’ll! And the longest chapter yet!

  
  
“Are you kidding me?  It’s a fucking _castle_ ,” Dugan spluttered as the massive structure loomed into sight, rising out of the Gloucestershire countryside like something out of a damn fairy tale.  The real ones, with witches cutting off peoples’ feet and entrails made into stew and that kind of crap.  When Bucky was a kid, he used to love staying over when Steve’s mom was home; she’d tell all the best stories: ones that would make his own mom yell at him for giving his sisters nightmares when he shared them later.  He felt a little different about it now when he felt like he was in the middle of one.  

And yet, despite the imposing presence, there was a glint of determination in Bucky’s eye.  It had been eight months since the raid on the Hydra compound in France.  Winter had retreated, and the Howlies were still somehow all miraculously alive and well, having survived the heat of summer and were now rounding the bend into the respite of fall.  They’d had some close calls, sure, but narrow escapes and minor injuries led to a growing sense of camaraderie.  Over the months, they had grown thick as thieves, knowing every bad habit and anecdote and dropping all kinds of personal boundaries, except for the growing portion of Bucky’s life that he kept absolute secret.  

Mission after mission, Bucky had found jack and shit as far as leads went.  It seemed like Zola and Schmidt were always a few steps ahead of them.  Subsequent raids on Hydra compounds had yielded the occasional crate of glyphs or more weird body parts in jars, but a giant zip as far as where Zola was hiding or what it was he had been trying to do.  They’d uncovered giant war machines, guns fed with the blue power cells, experimental aircrafts and toxic gasses, sure, but in all the manifests, warehouses, blueprints, and war records they’d recovered, nothing pertained to the rituals that Zola had been conducting in Kreischberg.  So when Bucky saw the castle looming before him, he dared to hope, because by now he had begrudgingly accepted that he was not getting better on his own.   

After the close call with Steve in France, which Bucky still felt guilty about, he started to pay more attention to his new, well, _need_.  The idea of being as hard up as he had gotten in London while in the field terrified him.  Bucky didn’t know what he’d do if he were around Steve and that bad off.  Even now, months later, the tenderness of the misbegotten kiss they’d shared hung over him, taunting him with what he couldn’t have.  So Bucky made sure to always take care of things before they became overpowering, even if that meant taking more risks by attending to them when he was in a city on a campaign instead of just on leave.  He knew it was riskier to ignore it and try to push through if his ‘symptoms’ started showing and affected his performance on the field, or worse.  

He’d find an excuse to sneak out or head off ‘in search of a dame’, and instead find a man willing to let him blow him in an alley.  And the harder up he was, the more sex was crowding out his thoughts and his cock throbbed in his pants, the easier it seemed to be to find another interested fella, seeming to confirm his ‘sex perfume’ theory.  Sometimes, if he knew what he was going out to do, he even turned his thoughts that way on purpose.  It just… it made things easier, okay?  It’s not like he liked doing it, or even liked admitting it was a thing he could do if he put his mind to it, but not everywhere was as easy to find a partner as London.  He stopped fighting it and let his mind wander where it wanted to go, got himself worked up, and other people nearby seemed to get worked up too – at least the men.  Even if he had a dame in his arms in a club, he got more flushed cheeks and uncomfortable looks from other guys on the dance floor that the woman he was right up next to.   And if one of them watched him too long instead of the girls around them, then, well, Bucky knew who to go talk to.  And every time, when the guy unloaded into his mouth, it was just as fucking good as it was in London.  And after, he’d feel better for a while.  Guilty, but better.  Sometimes he even took money for it, since it seemed to raise less questions.  He hated himself for doing it, but he didn’t see another option.  But despite where Bucky’s mind liked to wander, he kept it to just his mouth.  It seemed to be enough, at least, and he had to draw a damn line somewhere. 

To keep from feeling like he was just completely giving up, Bucky started to track it like a damn dame with her monthlies, but he really didn’t like what he was learning.  It was like he had a damn addiction like the junkies out by the docks.  After he got his ‘fix’, he felt energized and almost high.  Then he’d be good for a couple a weeks: clear headed and feeling like he was on top of the world.  But then like fucking clockwork, the lust began to creep back: obscene thoughts needled at him worse and worse over the course of another couple weeks until he couldn’t think about anything else.  He never let it get past that point.  

The big problem was that timing seemed to be getting just a little shorter every fucking time.  Not by much, just a day or two less each time before he started jonesing for it, but it was enough to really worry him.  How bad was this addiction going to get?   It wasn’t natural; that was for damn sure.  And so he couldn’t keep the creeping idea out of his head that maybe it was something _super_ natural.  Because it wasn’t even just the addiction to giving fucking blowjobs: some of the stunts he was pulling he couldn’t chock up to Stark’s tech in his rifle.  His senses were sharp, his reactions had been tuned up, and he swore he was stronger than he used to be.  Something Zola had said about science and magic had gotten under his skin: was there really that much of a difference between magic and science of the fashion that had created Steve?  What if they had accomplished precisely whatever it was they had set out to do?  And most importantly: what exactly was that?  Bucky needed to find out before he found out the hard way how bad his addiction was going to get… or the war ended.  Because afterwards?  Christ, he’d cross that bridge when he came to it, and hopefully he never would.  

He looked back up to the castle, chewing at his bottom lip.  According to his estimations, he would probably be due for another fix in about a week.  _Please_ , he thought silently to whoever might be listening _, let this be as promising as it looks._

 “Radio channels are quiet,” Morita spoke up after having been fiddling with the field radio for a few minutes while they waited.  “There’s some weird static on some of the outlying channels, but no kinds of communication.  If this is a Hydra base, they don’t have any kind of interpersonal communication,” he added dubiously.  

“According to the SSR’s reports, they’ve been funneling money to Hydra as well as other goods and materials.  This manor has been here for centuries, but no one really knows much about the goings-on on the grounds.  Lord Thornally has been very secretive and notoriously eccentric.”  Steve said as he lowered a set of binoculars.  

“Doesn’t seem like our kind of mission, though.  Are there even soldiers here or just some backwards, inbred lord who thinks Hitler got it right?  Why not just send in the local police or something to search the place and lock up Lord Batshit?”  Dum Dum asked.

There was a shushing of something moving through the grass behind them, and Bucky turned to see Agent Carter herself striding up to the group.  He almost didn’t recognize her at first: her hair was pulled back into a ponytail and she wore a dark coat and pair of military issue trousers tucked into combat boots.  A rifle was slug over her shoulder and looked as natural as if she came out of the womb with it.  “You’re correct, Corporal Dugan, this isn’t your typical mission.  That is precisely why I am here.  Apologies for my tardiness, boys, there was a bit of trouble in Bristol that delayed my arrival.” 

“Peggy?” Dum Dum blinked, obviously caught off guard.  “What’re you doing here?” Bucky had to admit he was a bit surprised to see Carter in the field with them, too.  He knew she was an active operative, but this was the first time they’d worked together on a mission.  Steve looked like he won some kinda prize.  
  
“Oh, did I forget to mention that Agent Carter would be taking the helm on his mission?” Steve added with a conspiratorial nod to Agent Carter.  Bucky couldn’t help but smile at the way Steve puffed up as she arrived.  Probably didn’t even realize he was doing it, the dumb bastard.  

“Quite right.  As to your question, the reason that this matter is a bit above the heads of the local police is that our sources indicate several large crates have been shipped here over the past few months that have somehow managed to avoid any sort of customs.  The SSR believes they may be constructing some sort of weapon.  Lord Thornally is also suspected to be in contact with a number of Hydra officials.”

 “It’s like some festering boil hidden within England herself.  They send children out to places like this, you know, to keep them away from the danger of the firebombing in London.” Falsworth spat with more venom than Bucky had ever seen the Brit show.  Deep in the English countryside, they were well removed from the front, but apparently that didn’t mean that even idyllic places like this were safe from the infestation of Hydra.  

“What’s the plan, Agent?” Gabe asked, setting his jaw.

“The castle shouldn’t be heavily guarded compared to what you’re used to.  We believe he has a loyal group of armed security that will be patrolling, but we’ve been careful about letting it out that we’re onto his Hydra affiliations.  So the key here is stealth.  That means you, too, Dugan.  We’re going to split up into small groups and each go in a different entrance.”  Peggy answered crispy and succinctly.

Steve nodded, continuing, “Every group’s gonna have someone who can handle themselves in a fistfight, and we’re going to try to avoid firing off any shots so we don’t raise the alarm.”  
  
“Split up?” Morita groaned, “This is a castle.  Ain’t you ever seen a horror movie, Cap?”

“Damn right I have, but none of you look like Fay Wray to me.  You’ll be fine.”

“All right, but if Frankenstein comes crawling out of the crypts, then I’m holding you personally at fault.” Bucky teased as he elbowed Steve in the ribs. 

“You know, Frankenstein was the doctor, not the monster,” Gabe corrected.  Bucky just glared back at him.  He knew that, he was just trying to make a fucking joke.  

“Alright, alright.  If anyone gets chased by Dracula, you can play ‘I-told-you-so’ for a month.  Bucky, you and Jim seem to be experts: you’re a group and head in through the South side.  Dernier, Gabe: you guys work well together and will approach from the East.  No bombs, Dernier.  Dum Dum and Falsworth will enter from the servant’s entrance on the South, and Agent Carter and I will come up from the cellar.” Bucky only barely managed to not make a joke about Peggy and Steve going up through the basement.  By the look on Dugan’s face, the joke had occurred to him, too and he was having an even harder time biting his tongue.

Steve continued, not realizing the opening he’d left.  “Everyone have their transmitters?  Good.  Work your way to the center and call it in if you run into trouble.  You’ve got your orders, now let’s move.”

*

The interior of the castle was no less spooky than its dramatic exterior.  Bucky and Morita shuffled down tight, narrow hallways cluttered with outdated but well-preserved furniture.  Mounted animal heads adorned the walls, snarling and glaring down at them as they passed, and strange furniture cast unusual shadows that stretched and grew in the beams of their flashlights.  At some point the castle had been updated with modern lighting, but in the dead of night, the halls were dark and claustrophobic.  

In the fifteen minutes since they’d entered the castle, they’d only encountered one pair of sentries, neither of whom were prepared for the sudden presence of well-trained intruders.  He’d dispatched them quickly and quietly, clobbering one over the head with the heavy military flashlight, and drawing his knife across the second’s throat with the other hand on the follow-through.  Neither even had the chance to yell out.  Morita had pursed his lips with a nod and stooped to investigate the bodies while Bucky breathed, trying to shake off the paranoia tumbling through his mind.  It had happened so quickly, his body responding to the threat before he even really stopped to think about what he was doing.  How sure were they of the intel that these goons were actually Hydra?  What if this was just some eccentric old kook’s bodyguards?  Bucky could have kissed Morita when he turned over their lapels to reveal pins with the familiar tentacle-skull logo.  

Still, as much as Bucky would have liked to bounce some questions off of Morita as they delved deeper into the massive building, this was a stealth mission.  So, unless there was an emergency, communication was limited to hand signals and the occasionally staccato of morse code vibrating against their legs when another team needed to communicate via their Stark-made portable telegraphs.  Bucky could do stealth missions, he was even pretty good at them, but it didn’t mean he liked them.  And right now, the eerie quiet of the hallways with nothing but muffled footsteps on faded oriental rugs was starting to get to him.  Because when he couldn’t shoot his mouth off, it meant he couldn’t silence the thoughts tumbling through his head. 

What was the war doing to him when he could kill quickly and efficiently without a moment’s hesitation?  Bucky knew there had been a reason he’d been promoted so quickly through the ranks initially, but it’s like the violence was getting into his blood.  

Morita held up a fist as they reached an open door, peering around the corner before waving Bucky forward and entering.  Bucky nearly groaned when it was revealed to be a library.  They were supposed to be being thorough: checking each room for potential information.  This was going to take for-fucking-ever.  He heard Morita huff a sigh by his side as well, obviously thinking the same thing.  Bucky met his eyes with a strained wince, but moved to the first case of books, skimming over the titles.  

The subjects ranged widely, from anatomy to zoology, but nothing looked like it was printed less than 50 years ago: too old to be anything relevant to the war, and certainly no new pulp novels or sci fi romps to add to his collection.  But as Bucky was making his preliminary round, his eye caught on some kinda letters carved into the cases and along the walls.  He froze mid-step, catching the etchings with his flashlight.  They certainly weren’t English letters, and nothing Bucky recognized, but as he looked over the dozen or two scattered around the room, none of them looked like the ones he had to carve in Austria.  They didn’t even look like the same alphabet.  

Bucky muttered a curse under his breath and Morita turned to look at him with raised eyebrows.  Bucky shook his head with a scowl, about to wave him off when the faint sound of another voice caught his ear.  He held up a finger and started to walk cautiously around the room, treading softly.  As he passed by one bookshelf that housed a collection of volumes on astrology, the voice grew a tad louder.  

“What is it?” Morita mouthed, barely a whisper.  In the confines of a room and not having to talk over their own footsteps, they could risk quiet vocalizations.

“I think there’s something back here.” Bucky responded in a matching-hushed tone. 

“You’ve gotta be kidding me.” He said skeptically. 

Bucky shook his head with a grin, “ _Secret passage!”_ he mouthed.  Oh hell yes.  All of a sudden he felt like a kid detective with a decoder ring. 

“We should call this in,” Morita hesitated.  

“Aw come on, Jim, we should check it out.  It might be nothing, and it’s probably nothing we can’t handle.  And if there IS a problem, I’m sure Steve’ll be here in a jiff.” 

“Do you even know how to open it up?”  

“No.  But, c’mon, I’m sure we can figure it out.” 

Bucky started tilting books on the shelf, pulled and turned candlesticks, and poked at statues, but to no avail.  Morita watched him acting like a monkey with a roll of his eyes and crossed arms.  Some help he was. 

Finally, Bucky grew frustrated, took a step back and eyed the shelf.  There was blank wall space to the right, so he grabbed it by the frame and just pushed.  There was resistance, but after a moment of putting his back into it, he was rewarded with a shudder and a soft groan as the bookcase slid along a track, revealing a yawning doorway behind it. 

Bucky pumped his fist triumphantly.  _Secret passage._   “C’mon, Jim, let’s check it out.”  
  
“All right, Hardy Boy: fine, but I’m at least going to let the others know where we’re going.”

“Alright alright – fair enough.” Bucky consented before eagerly stepping into the gloom behind the bookshelf while Morita quickly tapped out the Morse code.  

It only took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the low lighting that barely illuminated a spiral staircase leading downwards.  An old wooden handrail was set into uncovered stone block walls, etched with more lettering.

“Place looks Masonic.” Morita mouthed as he stepped up behind Bucky.

But before he could respond, the voice started speaking again from below, “Come now, stop your whining.” The speaker sounded older, male and British; not a trace of German harshness to the accent.  What a fucking traitor.  “It will be over soon enough, and if you’re a good boy, you’ll come back soon enough and get an extra helping of dinner.”

Bucky’s stomach turned over in barely concealed hatred and disgust as he used the man’s voice to mask his soft footsteps to the base of the stairway, Morita keeping pace with him.  At the bottom, Bucky pressed his back against the stone wall, peering carefully around the corner.

The tight spiral staircase opened up into a small, circular chamber.  The walls were ringed with huge, upright machines with dials, meters and lights that looked more complicated than a damn airport control tower.  A man with salt-and-pepper hair and a jacket with patches on the elbows stood before a table with his back turned, tooling with something out of Bucky’s range of vision.  There were two cages to either side of the table: one was empty and vaguely ajar, the other housed a whimpering dog that looked like some kind of boxer mix.   A dog collar, crusted with dried blood, was attached to the wall with a heavy chain.

But the thing that drew his attention was a large, irregular, dark stone that stood at the very center of the room in a shallow, circular pit.  Five rectangular holes were bored into its surface, and it seemed to almost shimmer in the dim lighting.  Bucky was just about to make his move when the stone seemed to suddenly melt all at once, slosh around in the pit for a few seconds, before reforming perfectly back to its original shape.  He  barely managed to swallow down his exclamation before he gave away their position.  The fuck was that?!  That sure as hell wasn’t natural!  The fuck was going on here!?  More than a little unsettled, he looked to his side quickly.  Morita was looking just as ashen-faced, slowly met Bucky’s eyes and nodded.  So he’d seen it, too.  

Bucky squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, focusing on his breathing and his objective.  This is the kind of shit he was looking for, wasn’t it?  Okay.  He looked to Morita and nodded, counting down on his fingers: three… two… one…

Bucky rounded the corner with his rifle drawn, “Hey!  You!  Turn around slowly and put your fucking hands in the air!”

Lord Thorally turned quickly, eyes wide.  A metal dog collar with some kinda camera screwed into it fell from his hands and clattered onto the floor.  “What is – why are you disturb – wait – who are you?!  How did you get in here?!”

“The question isn’t how we got in, it’s how much shit you’re in, you Hydra bastard.” Morita chimed in by his side. 

Thornally’s eyes darted between them as his jaw worked consideringly.  He raised his hands obligingly in the air and took a few steps back.  Suddenly, he crunched down on something and grinned wildly.  “You will not take me alive!”

FUCK.  

“Cyanide tablet!” Morita swore as Bucky closed the distance between them in a flash, shoving Thornally up against one of the machines.  He had thirty seconds – maybe – before the bastard died.  He didn’t have time for discretion, he needed answers.  
  
“Tell me, you sunnova bitch!” He shook him roughly, “What are you working on?! What is Zola trying to do with his experiments?!”

A wet, burbly laugh spilled out of Thornally’s mouth as his eyes gleamed with madness, “You think Hydra has but one path to victory?  Hydra has many heads, and our tentacles run deep into many pies.  Humanity cannot be trusted with its own freedom, and Schmidt believes he has transcended humanity.  But there is a force beyond us and beyond him that waits for us to serve.  Schmidt will play his part, make Hydra strong, and prime the world so that we can fulfill our destiny.” His mouth was filling with froth, bloodshot eyes bugging from his head, “Hail… Hydra!”  His body started to convulse as his hand gripped a dial on the machine behind him and twisted violently, snapping the piece off entirely before collapsing, lifeless, on the stone floor.

“FUCK!” Bucky spat, angry at Thornally, angry at his lack of answers, and angry at his own oversight for allowing him to kill himself.  “Fucking madman.”  He seethed.

“He coulda just said he didn’t fucking know.” Morita grumbled with a shake of his head.

“Wasn’t even what I asked him.  Fucking villains gotta monologue.” Bucky griped before his brows knitted.  There was a rumbling noise so low he almost wasn’t sure if he was really hearing anything.  

The dog started turning around in his cage, whimpering louder.  

“What was so important about asking him about Zola’s experiments, anyway?”  Morita asked, concern furrowing his brow.  “Not that you were gonna get a straight answer out of him, but that’s what you picked to ask him in his final moments?”

Bucky swallowed a building knot in his throat and opened his mouth to say – he didn’t know what precisely – when that low frequency thrumming got louder… and louder…

The stone in the center melted again, a current running through it like a ripple made of needles.  

“The hell is that?” Morita asked as a growing sense of dread built in the pit of Bucky's stomach.  He stooped down and wrenched the dial out of the dead man’s hand, and tried desperately to affix it back onto the machine, but as he struggled with it, the noise kept getting louder, and louder, and LOUDER until the whole machine, the whole _room_ was vibrating.  The stone reformed and the dog's whimpers became a screaming yowling, as he dug frantically at the bars of his cage.  

His ears were ringing, the noise hurting like all of his worst hangovers decided to team up and beat him over the head with baseball bats, and he felt something wet and warm trickle down his jaw as he tried desperately to get the dial to fit back onto the machine, or at least enough to catch whatever mechanism would dial it back down. 

“LEAVE IT!  WE’VE GOT TO GET OUT OF HERE!” He could barely hear Morita shout over the cacophony.  

Bucky turned, taking a few stumbling steps before seeing the dog going absolutely nuts in his cage.  “GO!  I’LL BE RIGHT BEHIND YOU!” He waved at Morita before dropping to his knees in front of the cage as the sound drilled through him, somehow getting louder still until it was the only sound that existed in the world.  

And fuck if the cage wasn’t locked.  His ears were bleeding, his vision was getting spotty, and his head felt like Steve had played kickball with it.  But the dog was – he could only assume it was shrieking – it’s mouth was opening and closing, it had already pissed itself, and he could see the panic in its eyes.  He couldn’t leave it – it wasn’t its fault it was being held by a madman and tortured!  It was just a poor animal.

Bucky gripped the gate with one hand and the side of the cage with the other, took a deep breath, and yanked with all of his strength.

The lock snapped off as the door wrenched open and the dog, half-mad with pain, bolted right into Bucky.  

He tried to catch it, with the idea of reassuring it before getting them both the fuck out of there, when the dog clamped down on his arm with a series of frantic, panicked bites.  A new blossom of pain spread through his arm as the poor dog turned its pain and confusion onto him. 

And then, just like that, the noise stopped.  

The dog settled down, whimpering and licking at the deep punctures peppering Bucky’s arm and shoulder; Bucky’s head snapped up.  Morita was standing beside the machine with the broken dial, a massive power cable hanging from his hand.  “Pulled the plug.” Morita answered the unasked question smugly, his voice sounding like it was coming from underwater, before blinking, “Oh hell, are you all right?  You’re bleeding!”  

Fuck, he had still been there?!  What had he seen?  “No – no, it’s fine,” He stammered through gritted teeth, “It was just the dog: he was scared and hurting.”

A frown tugged at Morita’s mouth, but he nodded, “Yeah, okay, but you should have Gabe check it out.  Those things can get infected.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know.”  The wounds throbbed something awful.  Bucky got to his feet shakily, wrapping his arm tightly with a strip off of his shirt.  Gingerly, Bucky pet the dog on the head, who was already wagging his tail and looking up to Bucky like he hung the moon.  “C’mon, the others are probably already halfway here.  We should let them know what happened.”

Sure enough, there were running footsteps heading their way by the time they got to the top of the stairwell, and Steve and Peggy skidded into the library.

“It’s fine,” Bucky cut them off before they could even ask.  “Unfortunately, Lord Turncoat didn’t make it.”

*

Over the next several minutes, the other Howlies made their way to the library, each arriving with a bouncing, barking fanfare of the dog, which Bucky had started mentally calling Sugar Ray.   

Bucky and Morita explained what had happened in the basement and the source of the noise that everyone in the castle had heard.  Fortunately, by that point, all of the guards had apparently been accounted for and dispatched.  Morita, thankfully, never mentioned Bucky’s stunt with the cage.  If he was lucky, he was too busy shutting down the machine to have seen it.  Still, he should have actually checked to see if Morita had beaten it before doing something that dumb.  

When Bucky described the stone, Peggy’s face grew concerned, “The SSR will do a full sweep of the basement and recover any pertinent materials.  I will have to instruct no one to touch this monolith, it could be very dangerous.”  

“Yeah, you won’t have to tell me that twice.” Bucky said with a shudder.  

“What about you guys?  Your search turn anything up?” Morita asked.

“We found a room with a telegraph.  It does look like Thornally had been in communication with Johann Schmidt and a Werner Reinhardt regularly, though there was nothing we could find about their locations.  But we’ll package it all up and send it along to the SSR along with our reports.” Steve answered solemnly.  

Dernier said that he and Gabe had found a locked room where three children had been being held.  Like a lot of other kids from London, they’d been relocated to the countryside, but drew what was apparently the shittiest straw ever.  They had been thrilled at the idea of living in a castle at first, but after telling Lord Thornally about weird noises and shouts they’d heard at night, he’d gotten scary, and they’d been locked away.  Worse yet was apparently there had been a fourth kid at some point.  Gabe had already taken them out of the property and was waiting at the rendezvous point.  

It only occurred to Bucky then, when he started to think about needing to hook up with Gabe after they were out of there about his arm, how it had stopped throbbing.  

“All right boys, good work here. And since it’s near midnight, we’ll be putting you up in an actual inn in Gloucester for the rest of the night.  All of you with your own rooms!  I’ll get some agents sent out here at first light and we’ll get anything remotely useful carted back to base.”  Agent Carter finished crisply.

Now that the situation had cooled and his adrenaline seeped away, Bucky felt the mire of disappointment flooding in.  There had been no documents downstairs that seemed remotely connected to Zola’s experiments, Thornally had offed himself before he’d had the chance to pry any useful information out of him, and the sweep of the library hadn’t revealed any books on ritual or magic.  This was his first promising lead in the better part of a fucking year, and nothing.  Even if there was some nugget of useful information here he missed, some other SSR division was going to be the ones poring over it.  He was screwed, he was so fucking screwed.  _No, I’m not, but I need to be_.

Fuck.  He whet his lips, running his hands through his hair.  It was too soon for that.  Right?

“Why the sour look, Sergeant?  You did good work here tonight.”  Peggy said, catching him by the shoulder as the others began to file out.  

“Sorry we weren’t able to take Thornally in alive.” He mustered, scratching Sugar Ray absently between the ears, focusing on the soft fur under his fingers and not the fact the throbbing seemed to have moved from his arm to his cock.  Something about the doting expression of a dog that knew you saved its ass was at least helping soften his mood.   

Agent Carter shook her head.  “You would be far from the first that lost a Hydra agent to a hidden cyanide capsule.  It’s been something of a problem, in fact.  However, this time the facility is intact, and I’m certain that this castle will reveal more secrets, even if Thornally himself would not.”

Bucky looked to Peggy, considering.  She’d been running her own missions to other Hydra facilities.  Even if the Howlies had turned up jack and shit in regards to Zola’s experiments, was it possible she’d encountered anything?  But how the hell did he even broach that subject?  “I noticed a lot of writing around the walls here – old runes of some kind.  But they’re not like the glyphs back in Austria.”

“The Hebrew?” Peggy asked with raised brows as she nodded to a glyph on the archway behind the bookshelf.  “Yes, I’m afraid that it seems like Hydra has enough resources among them to diversify their … ‘research’.” She finished with a frown.  

“Yeah, Thornally was bragging about that before he bit it.” Bucky mirrored her frown.  “I know there’s a lot of bullshit – ah, sorry, ma’am \- malarkey with what Hydra’s spending their money on, but there’s some really weird stuff going on that I don’t quite know how to explain.” He tried to gauge her expression.

He was rewarded with an eye-roll at his self-censoring, “Please, Sergeant, I’m no blushing maid.  I’m at war, just like you, and I can assure you I’ve said much worse.”  Her coy smirk faded to a more serious manner.  “There have been many things dragged out into the light thanks to the efforts of the SSR that may have seemed preposterous beforehand.  But, I assure you, from having worked with Dr. Erskine, there are rational explanations, even if it might seem like magic at first.  Let us worry about the clean-up and handling of the artifact you witnessed.  It will be studied and kept out of the wrong hands.  You should go get some rest.”

Bucky sighed, nodding in resignment.  Well, he tried. 

*

On his way back outside, Bucky ducked into a room and gingerly peeled back the makeshift bandages on his arm.  He winced, preparing himself for the pain of tearing the cloth away from the clotted blood, but it lifted away disturbingly easily.  It had only been an hour or so since the injury, but already he could tell the wound looked remarkably improved.  A narrow ring of fresh, pink skin circled the bite marks, which had stopped bleeding entirely.  He swallowed, prodding at them, almost hoping that he was seeing things.  But while the skin was tender, it was nothing like the bruised and swollen divots he had been expecting.  Like it _should_ have been.  Bucky loved dogs, and there had been more than once he had gone to pet a dog who wasn’t as friendly as he assumed.  With the number of times Sugar Ray had chomped down on him, his arm should have been a mess.  

Chills ran down his spine.  What had they done to him?  The melting and unmelting rock, that blue energy that even Stark didn’t seem to be able to completely explain, whatever they’d done to Steve, the way he tore that lock open in the basement: What _was_ he??  Some kind of sex vampire or something?!  As if in answer, his cock gave another, more enthusiastic throb, and he had to steady himself against a wall as he was assaulted with an image of latching hungrily onto someone’s cock, draining them of something sooo much better than blood…  
  
Noticing his agitation, Sugar Ray gave Bucky a sympathetic whine and lathed his tongue apologetically over his arm, snapping Bucky out of it.  Cripes, did the healing take it out of him or something?  “Yeah, yeah, it’s not your fault, bud.” Bucky responded absently, rewrapping the arm with the bloody bandages to hide his recovery more than anything else.   “Least I could get you outta here before these twisted fucks did anything to you, huh?”

*

The moment they were out of the castle, Sugar Ray set off with a bound towards the rest of their waiting party, his stubby tail wagging so hard that his whole body wiggled.  Bucky trudged after him, resolving that he was going to have another stop that night before he could actually get some damn shut-eye.  Figured, he was going to have to attend to his fucking needs on the night that they were getting private rooms with real damn beds.  Hopefully, since they were all getting back so late anyway, they’d be allowed to sleep in the next morning.  

A trio of small children lifted their heads when Sugar Ray’s enthusiastic whuffing caught their attention, and Bucky could see the moment shellshock give way to elation, pets, and cooing.  God, the oldest one couldn’t have been more than nine or ten.  They disentangled themselves from Gabe’s leg and glommed onto Sugar Ray; it was hard to tell which of the bunch was more excited.  

Gabe nodded to Bucky as he joined the reunion, “That’s the first time I’ve seen them smile since I found ‘em.” 

“Dog’sre magic, I tell ya.” Bucky smiled, giving Sugar Ray’s rump a pat.  “Seriously, though, they can keep him if they want.  Not like we can take him with us into a war zone.”  
  
“Really, mister?!” the tallest, a boy in a blue and white striped nightshirt asked with a gleam in his eye.

“Sure, kid.  I dunno what his name is, but I’ve been calling him Sugar Ray.”  

Gabe’s brow furrowed as he nodded to the bloody bandages around Bucky’s arm, “Hey, you okay?  Need me to take a look at that?”

“Naw, it’s fine.  It’s just a nip: the dog was freaking out and I was an idiot and tried to keep him still.”   Bucky waved him off.  Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Morita giving him an odd look, but he pretended he didn’t notice, and Morita, to his credit, didn’t say anything.  

“I’ll see to it that these children are placed in a _safe_ home.” Agent Carter assured the group.  “Now, I believe you all have earned your respite.”


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter’s darker, guys – and will be the darkest chapter in “Dragging You Down.” This chapter contains some definite dub/noncon, I’ve added a new tag, and the F word (the other one) is used against Bucky. This is an important chapter for the story progression, but please be forewarned!

What was taking him so goddamned long?

Despite the cool night air, sweat peppered Bucky’s brow as he scratched irritably at the itchy skin of his healing arm.  By the time he’d made it to the inn in Gloucester, the wounds on him arms were mostly closed and Bucky was blindsided by how fast the need had set on.  It had to be the healing that had cut short his timeframe; usually he had at least a week of build up in the form of wet dreams and waking fantasies.  Now, suddenly finding himself at the end of his fuse, he was left with no choice but to forfeit a well-earned full night’s sleep in a real bed in exchange for fixing his more immediate problem.  

So he’d turned into the curve, deliberately letting his mind mire in thoughts of sex and desire, and headed out into the streets like a damn animal on the prowl, hunting for prey.  He needed to find someone receptive to pick up and take care of this so he could get back to normal and get some damn sleep. 

He’d managed to make it out before last call at the bars in Gloucester, and find someone who stared at him a little longer and a little harder than most.  But how long had it been since the guy said he’d meet him back here in the alley behind the bar?  Five minutes?  Ten?  Too fucking long, that’s how long.  Because once released, it was hard to put the cat back into the bag, and nearly impossible when he was this _hungry_ for it.  

_Hurry the fuck up… please…_ Bucky despised being in this mindset: almost lost to the swimming thoughts of need and desire.  He didn’t feel like himself.  Fuck if he barely felt human.  _Am I even still human?_   _Don’t worry about that.  Don’t think about that.  It will be over soon.  You’re going to feel so good soon._   Bucky wished he could deny that he found himself looking forward to this: not just getting it over with it like he should, but to the rush of pleasure and energy that came with _feeding_.  Bucky’s pressed his back against the brick wall, virtually writhing in anticipation.  His pulse hammered in his ears and his cock strained against the fabric of his pants.  He hated that he wanted it, but God he wanted it so bad he could almost taste it on his lips.  

Heavy footsteps that fell with the uneven pace of inebriation turned into the alley.  Finally.  Bucky opened hungry eyes to see the young man he’d met inside with close-cropped dirty blonde hair and a loose workman’s shirt.  

“Took your sweet fucking time,” Bucky couldn’t help but snip as he shoved off the wall, wiping his sweaty palms off on his pants. 

“Oh, is the little punk impatient?  Got a busy night of more whoring ahead of him?”  If Bucky wasn’t in such a damn hurry and already having a hard enough time not just going straight for his cock, he might have decided this rugby asshole with the pockmarked face wasn’t worth it.  But Bucky was well past the point of giving a damn.  Gloucester was a small town compared to most of the places he’d had to do this in, and he didn’t have time to find his usual marks of shy wallflowers or bored queens.  A loud drunk who had apparently had enough beers not to care too much about who was sucking his cock as long as it was going to get sucked was going to have to do.    

“Yeah, maybe I do.  But that ain’t any of your goddamn business.  You ready for this or not?”  Bucky countered, refusing to take the bait and turn this into some kind of argument. 

“You are bloody eager.  I bet you really like doing this, don’t you?”  His smile turned mean and he leaned against the wall with a glint in his eyes, “Have at, mate.  Put those pretty lips to good use.”  

Maybe Bucky should have picked up on the warning signs, but once he was on his knees and eye-level with his package, everything else faded into the background.  

God, he could _smell_ it through his pants.  He wanted to bury his face in that scent, feel the press of an erection against his mouth, inside him, God, he wanted it so badly everywhere.  His whole body tingled in anticipation, his own cock so heavy between his legs that even the press of the cotton of his drawers around him felt good. 

Bucky made short work of his belt and tugged his trousers down to his knees, licking his lips hungrily as he laid eyes on his quarry.  Instinct took over as he moved in, taking the head into his mouth and swallowing it down.  Every time, Bucky forgot just how good it was.  He longed for it, he dreamt about it, but it was like his mind was incapable of completely holding onto the moment of pure bliss when he finally got his lips around a cock.  It felt like he was doing what he was made to do. 

_Maybe you are._

He swirled his tongue around his dick, and was rewarded with a fresh dribble of precome that slid down his throat.  Earnestly, his mouth began to work, sucking and swallowing.  He could feel the pulse of the vein against the flat of his tongue, each quiver and tingle of pleasure that ran down the shaft.  This was amazing, it was indescribable, but it was going to be so much better in a moment when he pulled the orgasm from him.  

A hand dug firmly into Bucky’s hair, jerking his head forward roughly and forcing him to choke down the entire length at once.  “You DO like this don’t you, you faggot?” Bucky coughed around it, but his throat loosened and then tightened once more in response.  The hand held his head firmly in place, and Bucky knew he should get the hell out of there.  He should stop.  He should pull away.  He knew he could easily overpower him, even from this position, but instead his mouth worked around the perfect hardness, a wanton, humiliating sob his only response.  He couldn’t stop now.  Every fiber of his being was crying out for release, and the idea of pulling away from this cock that was actually in his mouth was as unthinkable as shutting off his own air supply.  

“If you like this, you’re gonna love what comes next.  You won’t even need to go lookin’ for yer next customers.”  The voice was muted compared to the pounding in his ears, and Bucky almost wondered if he’d misheard before he felt his own trousers violently wrenched down.  

His eyes snapped open, rewarding him only with the close-up vantage of a mess of pubes.  Oh fuck.  Oh fuck.  _Oh fuck, this tastes so good – more… please more… I need to come so badly… I need to taste you…_ They weren’t alone.  There were at least three other sets of footsteps circling around him, and then the hocking sound of spitting.   
  
Bucky had never experienced the jarring juxtaposition of two simultaneous yet completely opposing reactions to one idea.  But all at once, he was filled with the twin sensations of abject dread and overpowering desire.  He knew what was about to happen, he didn’t _want_ that to happen, but at the same time his cock twitched and throbbed and started to drool, more turned on than he had ever felt before at the very idea that he was about to be fucked. 

He barely had time to process his own reaction before he felt a sudden and forceful pressure against his anus.  There was no preparation, no warning, just the blunt head of a barely-spit-slicked cock pressing into him.  

His body tensed, but the cock in his ass might as well have been a stake in his heart with how effectively it immobilized him.  It hurt, it stretched, it burned, and Bucky let loose a startled exclamation at the sudden intrusion, but then it was like something else took the wheel of his body.  Instead of tightening, his asshole relaxed.  And the other man, apparently having expected resistance, shoved in all at once as his body opened up and took him.  

And there it was.  For almost a year, he’d dreamt about being fucked.  He’d imagined what it would feel like before, but even his most intense wet dreams paled compared to the reality of having something hot and hard stretching him open and filling him up.  His whole body shook and quivered, as if it were a live wire with current being run through it for the first time.  The stretch and pain was there, but it was converted into something of pure bliss.   

 “Oh ffffuuuck!” The stranger’s voice shook behind him with the exclamation of unexpected and overwhelming pleasure as well.  Bucky could _feel_ the ecstasy coursing through the men on either side of him like he was a conduit.  With a cock in his mouth and a cock up his ass, he felt guilty that he felt so fucking blissful.  He knew it wasn’t right, but he couldn’t stop his body from moving, back arching and hips bucking to drive the shaft in deeper, and _yes, fuck, more of that, fill me, I’ve been empty for so fucking long!_

Time was lost to him.  All Bucky he knew was the mounting, building pleasure that somehow was bringing him to levels he didn’t even fucking know _existed_ until all of a sudden they were all coming and Bucky nearly blacked out as a euphoric rush of energy washed through him.  And fuck if ‘feeding’ wasn’t the right term, because it felt like he was pulling the energy of their orgasms into his very being.   
  
He barely registered them pulling out as he panted, still on his hands and shaking knees.  He was floating; he felt so good, so high, and without a trace of pain.  He could sense some the energy gather and warm in his injured arm, a pleasant prickle of the skin and hair. 

“Fuck,” The first one exclaimed, still reeling himself.  Bucky thought he registered him staggering backwards away.  

Bucky had barely registered that it was over when all of a sudden it was starting up again.  “It’s my turn,” Another voice eagerly interjected.  

He couldn’t stop himself from moaning as a new cock was thrust into his mouth, rewarding him with laughter from the circle of men around him.  

“Look at the needy little gunsel.” 

“He should be paying us!”

“This little slag’s looser than a hand-me-down shirt!” A fourth chimed in behind him after sliding a finger into his gaping asshole, resulting in a needy arch of his back.  He was still wet with come and spit, and the moment the new cock slid in, Bucky was lost again to unrepentant moans and uncontrollable quivering.  He wasn’t even hungry for it any more, he didn’t _need_ this, but caught in the thick of it, Bucky felt like he’d have sooner cut off his own arm than pull away from this font of rapture.   

_“You’re taking it so good, I knew you wanted this.”_    Bucky couldn’t tell if the voice was from one of the men, or in his own head. 

He was delirious; floating and adrift in the pleasure that it almost didn’t feel real anymore.  Nothing else seemed to exist anymore but the raw euphoria, the rush of energy, and a glorious, sizzling charge that made him feel like a bottle of pop that had been shaken up.  

Bucky couldn’t have said for certain if it stopped there, or if there were more than four of them.  But by the time he collected his scattered thoughts into some remote semblance of awareness, the fading sound of laughter was drifting away from the alley and Bucky could barely move.  But it wasn’t that he was sore, no, his whole body was shaking with overstimulation.  He didn’t just feel satisfied, he felt bloated with so much pleasure-energy that his body didn’t know what to do with it.  His cock was still hard and dripping, but not with need.  It was like he was still experiencing a slow, low-grade orgasm as a reaction to the feeling of ecstasy still permeating every damn cell of his body.  Wave after wave of it ebbed through his body before, finally, it began to pool at the base of his spine, throbbing in time with the pulse in his cock.  

As clarity began to filter back, Bucky felt a brief moment of confusion and a sinking feeling of dread. He felt so fucking strange.  He could feel in his bones that _something_ was about to happen.  His cock felt it, twitching unsettlingly eagerly before the most satisfying crack wrenched the base of his spine.  It was like a joint that had needed to pop for weeks finally shifted.  He almost let out a gasp of relief before he realized that his tailbone had actually dislodged.  It should have hurt – fuck, it did hurt – but it also felt so oddly goo– 

_CRACK_

Bucky did gasp out in pleasure as it wrenched a second time, and he felt the stretch of skin over a protruding knot at the base of his spine.  

His sweat ran cold.  

_No.  No no no no no fucking way._

Shaking fingers danced along the nub that extended a half inch outwards where his coccyx had apparently unfused all on its goddamn own.  The flesh was sensitive, tingly and-

_CRACK_

He felt it!  He fucking _felt_ it jerk as a full fucking vertebrae slipped outwards.  

_CRACK_

Bucky moaned and his cock dribbled as it lengthened suddenly again.  And fuck it felt so good under his fingers.  It was so sensitive, the skin so new and never before touched.  His eyes slid closed as his fingers explored along the two-inch protrusion-

 _CRACK_  
  
Bucky jerked his hand away from it as he felt it _twitch_ after it grew another inch.  What the fuck was he doing?!  What in the hell was happening to him?!  

_CRACK_

Bucky twisted his head around and finally laid eyes on it.  It was nearly five inches long now: a thin, fleshy _tail_.  

“I’m dreaming.  I’m in the middle of a fucking nightmare.  This isn’t real, this can’t be real.” Bucky spluttered, trying desperately to convince himself to wake up.  He felt a pressure building again in a pleasant ache before - 

_CRACK_

He saw it this time as it pushed out a little longer with a disturbingly satisfying twinge.  _Fuck why does it feel good!?_    
  
_CRACK_

He swallowed, new nerves and new sensations springing to life as he could _feel_ the cool air on new, warm flesh.  And as he tensed new muscles, the thing FLICKED back and forth.  

Wide eyed, Bucky’s heart hammered in his chest.  He had to get the fuck out of here.  Now.  Wincing at the sensitivity of his tai- of _it_ \- he pulled his pants up and over it, only securing the top button before turning to flee the alleyway.

_CRACK_

Another spasm wrenched his body and he stumbled as he felt the cloth slip over new, sensitive skin that sent echoes of pleasure through his cock.  

He caught himself on the alley wall, heaving a few ragged breaths before gritting his teeth and setting off at a run.  

*

Bucky fell heavily against the door to his room in the inn, his whole body shaking with shock.  The abject panic that fueled his run to the hotel gave way to terror and revulsion that churned in his stomach along with God knew how much semen.  

Bucky dug his fingers into his hair.  _God, I’m disgusting.  How did I let it get this bad?!  I just got jumped by at least four guys in an alleyway and I didn’t even fight back; I fucking LIKED it.  There’s something really, really fucking wrong with me.  I should have done something sooner.  I shouldn’t have tried to handle this on my own!_

He wanted to crawl into bed and just shut the world out.  He wanted to be back home, having never gone off to war. 

_I can’t handle this._

Bucky squeezed his eyes shut, forcing himself to breathe in for a full five seconds, hold it for another five, before finally exhaling.  

_I have to handle this._

Gingerly, Bucky undid his fly and stepped out of his pants, keeping his eyes squeezed shut. _I’m going to open my eyes, and nothing’s going to be wrong. I hallucinated this.  It wasn’t real._

Bucky opened his eyes and had to brace himself against the door as the room spun.  It was still there.  A foot and a half long _tail_ extended from the base of his spine to a tapered point.  It was the pink of new flesh, and looked like a scaleless snake’s tail: thin, sinuous and twitching in the air.  Physical evidence of the transgressions he just committed  

_This isn’t happening.  What am I TURNING INTO!?  I was dealing with what Hydra put me through.   I was dealing with being queer.  But I CAN’T have a fucking TAIL!_

He reached a quavering hand down, taking a hold of it.  It still felt tender, pulsing in his hand.  And as he ran his thumb along it tentatively, shudders of pleasure ran down his spine, and it wriggled and wrapped back around his fist.  

_Nope._

Everything in Bucky’s mind went quiet.  Without hesitating, he strode across the room to his pack, opened up a flap, pulled out his knife, and stuffed a pair of clean socks in his mouth.  

He took one breath in through his nose, gripped it tight, and poised the blade right at the base.  He tried not to think about how the blade stung where it pressed against the sensitive, new flesh.  And then, before he had the chance to think twice, he jerked up with the knife while he jerked his tail down.

It hurt SO much worse than he anticipated.

The socks fell from his mouth as he screamed, dropping the knife and the severed tail as it wriggled disturbingly on the floor where it fell, followed shortly after by a stream of fresh blood.  

Bucky felt faint, he felt nauseous, but it was done.  He wrenched open the window, scooping it up and tossing it outside so he didn’t have to look at it before he leaned over the sill and retched until his body convulsed with dry-heaves.  

Weakly, he slid the window closed again, and was about to grab the socks to press against his wound when the blood flow slowed to a trickle.  
  
For a single blissful moment, Bucky thought it was actually over.  

He should have known better.

The lust hit him like a ton of bricks, overwhelming him and pouring itself out of his throat in the form of a raw wail. 

He thought he knew what need was like before.  He was wrong.  It was worse than earlier that night.  Worse than London.  He always wondered how bad it could get, and know he knew.   Sure, his wound still hurt, but it was a distant background noise to the absolute kick of lust rampaging through his brain.  His whole being was defined by his need.   He was sweating buckets, he was so hot, he was so horny, so _hungry_.  

He fell to his knees, gripped his aching, leaking cock and pumped frenetically, but somehow it just made it worse.  It felt good, it felt so fucking good, but it wasn’t enough.  Bucky reached around with his other hand, a finger pressing hopefully against his hole.  It was still aching and somehow dripping with slick.  Bucky bit his lip, hating himself a little as he slipped a pair of fingers easily inside.  And God did it feel good as Bucky shoved them in earnestly as deeply as he could, but all it seemed to do was remind him of just how good it had felt less than an hour ago with a real cock shoved up inside him for the first time.  The memory of the stretch of himself around a hot, twitching, thrusting cock haunted him.  He shouldn’t want it, but now that he’d tasted it he felt like he needed it; he felt so empty that he ached for it.  All his fingers were doing was just getting him closer and closer to the maddening edge of orgasm without being able to go over. 

“P _lease_ ,” he groaned to no one, begging.  _Please, I need to be touched.  I need to be fucked.  Oh God, I need to be fucked.  God help me, I’m sorry, but please please please someone fuck me.  I feel like I’m going fucking crazy!_

His cock jerked again in his hands and his back arched.  He was so ready for it.  He could feel his asshole fluttering around his fingers and something warm and wet start to trickle down his leg.  

Distantly, Bucky heard a pounding on the door.  “Bucky?  BUCKY!  Are you OK?  I heard you scream!” 

“Steve!” _Steve no…_

 


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bucky can’t come to the phone right now, so we’ll check in with Steve ;)

A strangled scream yanked Steve out of sleep and directly onto his feet.  It only took him a moment to get his bearings and realize that he wasn’t on the field, but in the hotel, on what was supposed to be a safe night of respite.  Still, worst case scenarios began to tumble through his mind, and Steve berated himself for not having set up some kind of watch.  What if there was a secret Hydra agent here in the town looking to retaliate for the attack on Lord Thornally?  These were his men and his responsibility.  He should have known better than to let his guard down.  

_Stop.  Focus.  Move forward.  What was the source of the cry_?  Steve’s acute hearing picked up on thumps and muffled groans from the room he shared the far wall with: Bucky’s room.  

Steve grabbed his shield, not pausing to put on more clothes than the cotton drawers that he had been sleeping in, and rushed out of his room and to Bucky’s door.  

He only paused a moment at the door as doubt slowed his hand.  What if he had misheard in his sleep?  What if Bucky had just had a nightmare or… _company_?  

He shook his head.  That shout had sounded distressed.  It wasn’t worth the risk.  Decisively, Steve pounded on the door, “Bucky?  BUCKY!  Are you OK?  I heard you scream!”

“Steve!” Bucky’s voice gasped, laced with fear.  

Steve didn’t wait any longer.  He twisted the handle sharply and was rewarded with a crack of the lock breaking.  Shoving the door open, he strode into the room, ready to pound anyone who dared ambush his best friend when he was supposed to be sleeping and safe.

But Bucky was alone.  
  
However, doubled over on his knees with his back to the door and wearing nothing but his shirt, he was certainly in distress.  His whole body was shaking and Steve spotted a fresh, circular wound on his lower back. 

“Bucky!” Steve dropped his shield with a clatter, rushed in and grabbed a balled up pair of socks from the floor, pressing them firmly against the injury.  Bucky’s skin was fever-hot, coated with a sheen of sweat.  “What happened?  Were you shot?  God, you’re burning up!”  

Bucky hissed as Steve applied pressure to the wound, but he pressed back against his hands.  “Steve-” he moaned, his voice as shaky and distant as it was when Steve found him strapped to the table in Kreischberg.  

“I’ll go get Gabe – why didn’t you tell me you were hurt!?  Did this happen at the castle?  Or was someone here?”  God, what if Bucky in his damn stubbornness hadn’t said anything and he’d gotten hit with something that was poisoned?!  
  
Bucky’s arm darted out and gripped Steve’s forearm with surprising strength.  “No!” He gasped, turning wide-eyed to stare at Steve.  Bucky’s face was flushed red, dripping with sweat, and his pupils had expanded to nearly fill his irises.  “No… no doctor,” Bucky stuttered, keeping his iron grip on Steve’s forearm.  But as Steve floundered, his confusion turned to concern and then horror as he watched Bucky’s pupils continue to expand until they had consumed even the white sclera of his eyes, leaving behind solid black pools.  

“Bucky?” Steve’s voice was barely a whisper when it eked out of his shock-constricted throat.  His brain tried to dredge up some sort of explanation, but it just kept circling back around with worry at the wrongness of what he was seeing.  But as his stalled mind stumbled for a course of action, an inappropriate thought took the opportunity to interject itself: Bucky smelled so _good_.  A rich, musky-sweet odor hung on the air and tingled in Steve’s nose, stirring a hint of desire.  Something was really wrong with Bucky, and yet, with his flushed, glistening cheeks, puffy, red-bitten lips, and literally darkened eyes, he was positively radiating want.  What was wrong with _him_?  Thinking something like that at a time like this!  

Bucky shifted, taking on an almost predatory posture as he turned his body to fully face him.  “I need you, Steve,” Bucky’s mouth fell open with a whine.  
  
“I’m right here, Buck.  What- what’s wrong?  What’s happening to you?!”

Bucky’s eyes dropped downwards with a flinch, and Steve followed his glance, only now noticing Bucky’s revealed erection, actively drooling and purpled with unsatisfied need. “’m so sorry, Stevie,” Bucky managed around a sob, “I didn’t - I didn’t want you to see me like this!  I should’ve… mmph, no, I’m sorry, I’m so fucking horny I can’t… can’t _think_ straight!”  Bucky’s other hand grabbed Steve’s shoulder, clinging desperately to him.  “Help me!”  

“Bucky-” Steve faltered.  How could he help?  What was even happening?  Did Bucky even know?  And worse yet, Steve wasn’t even entirely sure if Bucky was begging for help to stop whatever was going on… or to see it through.  No, he shouldn’t even think like that, but it was too late: his own body responded, his erection reaching full mast.  Since the serum, his libido had been more _enthusiastic_ than it used to be, but never anything he couldn’t handle.  For a while, he had even thought that the serum had fixed the inverted thoughts he had long harbored along with his physical ailments.  But as the war drug on, despite Steve’s healthy interest in women, namely Peggy, he had caught himself still occasionally thinking about his best friend in inappropriate ways.  But Steve had years of practice of shoving those thoughts aside, and between the war and Peggy, he’d continued to ignore them.  Now, he was finding his own thoughts difficult to hold together, especially with Bucky virtually having crawled into his lap with a bobbing erection leaking a pool onto him.  The wetness seeped through his drawers, sending a mighty twitch through Steve’s cock as his balls tightened in tandem.  “What-” _Think, Steve,_ “What can I do?”  

Bucky bit his lips, squeezing his eyes shut in concentration as he started to pull in even breaths like he did to before a fight.  But despite his efforts, his body began to move, sliding his hips along Steve’s lap, grinding his bare ass down against Steve’s thinly covered prick.  A guttural moan slipped from Bucky’s mouth – no – that was him!  

“You can… you can fuck me, please, please Steve – ‘m sorry – I can’t help it - but I need you inside me.”  Bucky’s shoulders were hunched up and his head hung in shame.  

Steve wanted to; he wanted to so badly.  Seventeen years of desire burned hot in his chest and throbbed in his loins.  But this was never supposed to happen, no matter what he wanted.   Bucky wasn’t in his right mind, not that Steve was sure that he was either.  And besides, now there was Peggy.  And while nothing had happened between them yet, Steve had known the moment she opened her mouth and sized up a squad of recruits that she was the one he had been waiting for.  Bucky was never meant to be.  He was the forbidden fruit.  It couldn’t happen; that’s just how it went.  

“You’re not thinking straight!” Steve managed.  And in a Herculean effort of will, he wrapped his arms around Bucky’s waist and hoisted him up, carted him across the room, and deposited him onto the bed.  He’d leave him there, go get Gabe and, and then what?  Steve paused at the door, drawn.  Bucky was vulnerable, he didn’t want anyone seeing him like this, and really, what exactly could Gabe do in a situation like this?  He was a damn good field medic, but this was a little beyond his area of expertise. 

But when he looked back over at him, Bucky had begun to writhe on his back, balling a fist in the sheets while his hips bucked and his cock continued to leak across his stomach.  “Please, Stevie.” He moaned, head lashing side to side “I feel like ‘m gonna die if I don’t get it.  I – I want you – I’ve wanted you for – fuck – for so long!  Can’t keep you outta my head!”

This was something ripped out of one of Steve’s most private thoughts: Bucky tangled in the sheets, moaning his name, having wanted him all along.  Protectiveness was subsumed by a sense of growing possessiveness.  Bucky wanted _him_.  What if this really was what he needed, somehow?   Or was he just trying to find some justification to himself to go through with this?  

Steve pressed the door securely closed before stepping back and running a hand through his hair, trying desperately to collect his thoughts.  He couldn’t do this.  Bucky wasn’t like this: something had been done to him!  

“You gotta lie still, pal,” Steve breathed, finding himself having drifted back over to Bucky at the bed, the back of his had wiping at Bucky’s fevered temple.  Maybe he was dreaming.  This was too bizarre not to be a dream, and his mind was starting to feel boxy and muzzy, like he was the one with a fever.  

Bucky snatched Steve’s hand, bringing it to his mouth.  A moan escaped Steve as Bucky wrapped his hot lips around Steve’s knuckles, swirling his tongue over the joint.  Ebony eyes locked with Steve’s, unblinking and radiating desire with startling expressiveness.  Steve’s muscles loosened as he watched Bucky’s tongue deftly play over his hand.  He whet his mouth, stumbling to find the words.  Which words?  

And then Bucky was guiding Steve’s hand downwards: down his chest where his dogtags nestled beneath his shirt, across his tight stomach, along his ramrod cock, and finally at the sweet spot between his legs.  

_“Please, Stevie,”_ Bucky whispered, and Steve gasped when his fingers brushed Bucky’s hole.  It was already wet with slick, and before Steve even realized what he was doing, a finger slipped curiously inside.  Bucky moaned out, his back arching as he pressed down until Steve was knuckle-deep.  Inside was just as hot as Bucky’s skin, slick, and tight.  “More, more, I need you,” Bucky whimpered.

Steve couldn’t have said when it was that he had removed his drawers, but the next thing he knew he had his own cock in his other hand, stroking along its generous length as he fingered Bucky and watched him squirm on the bedsheets in front of him better than any blue picture actress.  Bucky dropped his eyes, catching sight of Steve’s cock and his mouth fell open with a gasp.  “God, lookit you.” Bucky breathed “Better ‘n I even imagined.  Please, Stevie, let me have it.  I’ll make you feel so damn good.”  

Bucky never would have thought of him like that.  This had to be a dream.  

It was okay if it was a dream.

It was like the floodgates had opened.  Years of repressed desire and shameful thoughts gave way to impassioned action.  Steve swooped in on him, crushing their lips together in a snarl of want.  He dug a second figure into Bucky’s trembling, dripping hole, then a third.  Bucky tossed his head to either side, “No, no, more; not your fingers, I need _you_.”  

“Impatient jerk.” Steve nipped, lost in fantasy.  But, obediently, he withdrew his fingers and grasped his own aching cock.  

“Don’t I need something?” Steve hesitated, but Bucky cut him off.

“No, I’m ready, please, trust me; just let me feel you inside!”  Bucky reached down, taking the helm and helped guide Steve’s tip to his waiting hole.  Bucky bit his lips, his eyes sliding closed as he pressed Steve against him, the wet pucker kissing the head of Steve’s cock.  

It just took a little stutter of Steve’s hips, and suddenly he was inside.  He felt the warm squeeze of Bucky around him, drawing him further in.  It was like sliding home.  Steve may not have known what to do, but his body did.  His hips began to roll, experimentally pressing himself further in before withdrawing enough to feel the squeeze of muscles along the length of his shaft.  Then, he plunged back in all over again, drawing a gasping, crooning moan from Bucky as his mouth fell open in an expression of pure bliss. 

He was drunk on the smell of Bucky’s musky scent as he buried his face in his hair, high on the feeling of abject pleasure, and lost to the new sensations of being truly _inside_ the man he loved.  He could actually run his hands over his broad shoulders, he could pepper his lips along his neck, and he could murmur his name out loud as he pressed their bodies together. 

But none of that compared to the perfect feeling of fitting inside Bucky like two jigsaw pieces that finally snapped together.  Bucky was wet, hot, and welcoming, squeezing and tightening around him more and more with each thrust.  Steve had never seen him this uninhibited; all hints of shame were gone as Bucky clung and clawed at Steve’s back, mewling and gasping in pleasure and begging for more.  Bucky was ardor made flesh, an animal of passion, and the sensation was beyond what he had ever imagined.  And seeing how much Bucky loved it only pushed Steve closer and closer to the edge, every hint of hesitation evaporating in the heat of the moment.  

  
It didn’t take Steve long.  His balls tightened, his cock tensed, and all of a sudden he was spilling himself into Bucky, who only gripped him tighter and buried his face into Steve’s shoulder with an unintelligible string of adulations.  But it didn’t stop.  Bucky’s body clenched around him, squeezing around his still-hard cock, and just as his head began to clear he was hit again with the full force of a second orgasm.  His body went taut, his hips slamming back hard into Bucky, and lights danced behind his eyes as pleasure blanked out any other thought.  Again, and again, a train of orgasms flashed through Steve like a strobe light, putting his super soldier endurance to the test as Bucky’s body wrung every last drop of cum from him.  Until finally, milked dry, Steve crashed down on top of him, asleep before his head hit his chest.   


	21. Chapter 21

At last, madness gave way to pleasure the likes of which Bucky never knew existed.  There was something singular about finally realizing his fantasies about being with Steve, being wrapped in his arms and filling his being with a presence that satisfied more than just his physical need.    And when the orgasms finally came, cresting wave after wave, it felt as if Bucky were on the best damn rollercoaster of his life.  Each pump of Steve’s seed into him sent him spiraling to new heights, filling him to bursting with energy and ecstasy as Bucky’s body drank in everything Steve had to give as if he were the source of life itself.  

And finally, nestled in the presence, warmth and smell of Steve, Bucky was carried away into the incandescent afterglow of pure satisfaction and pleasure.  
  
*

Consciousness slowly pierced through the heady, post-orgasmic haze, greeting Bucky with the press of a heavy, warm body and sunlight filtering in through the blinds and Bucky's eyelids.  Bucky’s mind struggled to draw itself back together. 

Where was he?  Was it morning already?  Why was that surprising?  What was the last thing he remembered?  

There had been the assault on Lord Thornally’s castle, the terrible sound, the dog bite and… oh.  _Oh_.  

His eyes snapped open, greeting him with a close-up vantage of Steve’s drooling face slack against his own chest.  A strong scent of sweat and sex filled his nose, and he could feel the sticky mess coating them both.  Shame settled over him like a shroud.  None of it had been a dream. 

The bottom gave out in his stomach as horror and guilt teamed up to punch him in the gut.  This was exactly what he had been hoping to keep Steve from.  Steve could have had everything he wanted and deserved.  But no, instead Bucky had fucked it all up and dragged him down with him.  

Steve’s eyes began to flutter and panic welled up in Bucky’s chest.  Now what?  What could he do?  Should he try to get away?  Go AWOL?  He knew it was ridiculous the moment the thought popped into his head.  Running would do nothing but make things even worse for Steve.  Besides, he’d already run from this enough; that’s what had gotten him into this mess to begin with.  It was time to face the music.  

“Bucky..?” Steve slurred, brows knitting as Bucky could see the gears starting to grind through his sleep-mired mind.  Fear stilled his tongue until he saw the inevitable flush sweep over Steve’s face.  In a flash, Steve was sitting up, blankets drawn modestly over his lap.  

“Steve, fuck, Steve I’m sorry, I’m so fucking sorry!” Bucky spluttered, but Steve cut him off.

“Bucky, Bucky, shh, don’t.  Please don’t.  I – I wanted it, too.”  
  
“Steve, no, you weren’t in your right mind!”

“And you didn’t seem to be, either!” Steve countered.  “I knew that, and I still... dammit, I still did it even though I knew that!  What was wrong with me?!”

“It’s not your fault, Steve.  It was mine.” Bucky pleaded.

Steve shook his head, a groove developing between his brows, “Why are you blaming yourself, Bucky?  What happened?  That wasn’t normal!  Did something happen to you at the castle?  Was someone here?  You were hurt: were you drugged with something?”

“Steve, I- no.” Bucky floundered.  Where in the hell did he even start?

“And your eyes – they were _black_.  Was I seeing things?”  Steve continued, having barely paused to let Bucky speak.  

“They what?” Bucky blanched.  Okay, _that_ was new and terrifying.  Maybe not quite as terrifying as-

Something rustled under the sheets in concert with a sensation of fabric sliding over skin that did definitely not belong to any limb that should have been there.

“Yeah- completely black, Buck.  I mean, they’re better now but- Bucky?  Bucky, what is it?”

Bucky had gone stock still and sheet white as his eyes gravitated downwards.  _I got rid of it!!  I CUT the damn thing off!  It can’t be back!   If it’s back, then that means I cut it off for nothing.  I got Steve involved with this for NOTHING.  It means I CAN’T get rid of it!  That I’m stuck with a fucking TAIL!  How is this really happening?!_

The words didn’t make it to Buck’s mouth, but a quiver had taken hold of his frame.

“Bucky?  What’s wrong?  Is there something here?”  Steve earnestly tried to get Bucky’s attention once more, but Bucky just gave a tight shake of his head, unable to wrest his eyes away from the lump under the sheets.  

Steve set his jaw and jerked back the blankets.

And there, revealed before God and Steve Rogers, was a damn tail growing from Bucky’s backside.  And fuck if it wasn’t even a little longer than it was the night before, as if it were mocking him for trying to get rid of it.  

“Oh my God,” Steve gaped.  

Bucky cringed, unable to meet Steve’s eyes as finally the words began to tumble from his mouth.  And once they started, he couldn’t stop them, “I’m sorry, Fuck, Steve I should have said something sooner.  Before it got this bad!  Not that I thought it was ever going to get this bad, I mean how could I have?!  I still feel like I’m seein’ things.  But I couldn’t – I couldn’t get you involved.  It was too much, too humiliating, and I was scared.  I was a goddamn coward, Steve!  Because I was scared something like this would happen – you ‘n me I mean.  I didn’t want to fuck things up for you-“

“Bucky-“

“And now look at where we are!  We had sex.  My life’s already gone to shit; you deserve so much better than this!  And now I have a fucking TAIL, Steve!  Like it’s some kinda punishment!  And maybe it is!  I tried to fucking cut it OFF last night after it grew in, and now it’s BACK!”  

“Bucky, you’re upset, and not making any sense-” Steve tried to calm him down, but was also blatantly staring at his tail.

“Of COURSE I’m upset!  None of this makes any goddamn sense!”  Bucky exasperated, “I don’t fucking know what I AM! None of this should even be possible – it’s like something out of a goddamn horror movie.  I don’t know what they did to me, or what I’m turning into!  I’ve been trying to piece things together, but it’s been insane, and once I think I have a handle on it or am starting to understand, things get worse.  And now here I am, lost, with a damn tail!”  And as if to underline his point, Bucky’s tail started swishing back and forth like an angry cat’s, which was absolutely not helping Bucky’s panicked rambling.  “A TAIL!  And GOD, STEVE it’s MOVING!  And I fucking dragged you into my problems when you already have so much shit to worry about and shouldn’t have to deal with this, too.  I’m a mess, Steve, I-“ 

“Bucky!  Hold on!” Steve gripped Bucky by the shoulders and gave him a shake, which finally cut off the font of words.  “Listen to me, Bucky.  Close your eyes.  Breathe.  Then start at the beginning.”  Somehow, Steve managed to keep his voice even.  Because even when Steve had every right to be freaking out or furious or both, he was focused on calming _him_ down. 

But it was helping.  Marginally calmer, his tail settled down again.  And following instructions did make things easier: it was somewhere to start. Bucky felt ashamed for dumping all of this on Steve, but on the other hand, dealing with this on his own had been hell.  Steve was his oldest and best friend, and the fact it was no longer just his own burden, whether he had planned on sharing it or not, was a guilty relief.    

One step at a time.  Bucky swallowed and closed his eyes, forcing himself to take a few even breaths before he opened his mouth again.  “Hydra fucked me up, Steve.”  He swallowed, and watched as Steve’s expression fell, folding into a look of sad consternation. 

“I don’t know what they were going for, but nothing’s been the same since Kreischberg.  At first I just thought it was thanks to whatever they drugged me with.  I was having weird dreams,” He swallowed, eyes dropping and smoothing the sheets over his own lap.  Despite what happened with him and Steve the night before, it was still hard to actually put words to the shameful, humiliating things he’d been dealing with.  “Like, real graphic sex dreams.  Which I know isn’t anything too weird, not that you’re supposed to talk about that kind of thing.  But they were real persistent, and always with men.”

Steve swallowed, and despite his best efforts, his eyes averted from locking with Bucky’s gaze to looking at some vague spot somewhere behind his head.  

“So I figured, it would go away, right?  Might take a bit, but I’d just buck up and deal with it.  But no, instead it starts getting worse.  I can’t get things out of my head even when I’m awake.”  Bucky shook his head, catching Steve’s sympathetic frown in his peripheral vision.  “I can’t believe I’m talking about this,” Bucky murmured under his breath.

Steve set his jaw and leaned forward to squeeze Bucky’s shoulder, forcing both himself and Bucky to meet each other’s eyes.  “Bucky, it’s me.  I know this must be hard for you…”

“That’s a fucking understatement,” Bucky muttered.  “So it didn’t go away.  I try to, you know, get things out of my system.  I met up with a great girl, and I felt better.  But it didn’t last.  It got worse and fucking worse and not even girls fixed it.  So I couldn’t help it anymore and finally gave in to what I’m fixated on, thinking maybe if I do it will leave me alone once and for all.  And fuck, Steve.  It wasn’t at all like I was prepared for, and that should have been a fucking sign.  It was different.” Bucky ran a hand through his hair.  This shouldn’t be this hard; Steve already knew a big part of this, and it wasn’t like he hadn’t kissed and told with Steve before.  He’d been sharing stories of his exploits since they were teenagers, even if he might have exaggerated sometimes.  “It was almost too good, and I felt, I dunno, satisfied.”  
  
Bucky could tell that Steve was trying his damndest to keep his face stonewall, but it was nearly impossible to hide the sadness in his expression as he listened on.  His jaw was clenched, doing his best to be quiet and listen like the dutiful soldier and friend he was, but the overwhelming sense of shame and sadness that hung in the room was cloistering. 

“So I think it’s fixed and I go back to what we were doing.  For more than a month I feel great.  Better than great after having dealt with that shit for as long as I did, so I figure I’m cured.  But then it starts to creep back until it’s just as bad as before.  I don’t know what Hydra was trying to do to me, but I feel like a damn drug addict, only with sex… with men.  It’s like I can only go for so long without it before this need takes hold of me, and eventually I give in because I get scared about what I might do if I don’t settle up on my own terms.” Bucky’s face fell as soon as he said it, “I got scared about something happening exactly like it did last night.”

“You’re talking like you forced me to do something, Bucky.”                                                                           

“Well I did, didn’t I?!” Bucky prickled, “When I get real bad off, it affects people around me.  It would probably sound crazier if I didn’t know you felt it last night, Steve.  What you were probably feeling: that’s how I feel when it builds up too much.  I know – I _know_ you wouldn’t have done that if you hadn’t been affected by me, because I wouldn’t do the kind of shit I’ve been doing if I felt like I had any choice in the matter.  I’d been trying to keep a lid on things: trying to settle them on my own away from you guys and find fellas who do that kind of thing anyway.  But something happened last night: I fucked up and I got scared.  I was too hungry for it and made a bad call and made an arrangement with some guy when I should have picked up on how shady he was, and – well, it doesn’t matter.  I got more than what I was bargaining for and the next thing I know I’m fucking _growing a tail_.”  Bucky balled his hands into fists, trying to steady his breathing.  “I ran back to my room and I tried cutting it off.” Bucky admitted, “That’s the wound you saw.” 

Steve ran his hands through his hair.  “You should have come to me!” the sympathetic plea had an edge of offended authority; “Bucky, you should have told me about this months ago before it got this bad!  If not because I’m your commanding officer, then because I’m your best friend!”

Bucky shook his head, glancing back over his shoulder at the offending appendage, swallowing as he watched it twitch and coil when he deliberately flexed the unfamiliar muscles.  Despite how unsettling it was to finally force himself to watch and try to control it, it was still easier than answering Steve’s question.   

“Bucky,” Steve re-emphasized, with a softer note, “Why didn’t you come to me sooner?” 

“Are you kidding me?” Bucky finally met Steve’s eyes, “What the hell was I supposed to say?  Hey, pal, I’ve become obsessed with fucking men, do you think you could lend a guy a hand?”

Steve frowned, “Now you’re just deflecting.  Cut the bullshit; what’s the real reason, Bucky?”

“Because you told me you were better, Steve.”  Bucky snapped, surprising even himself.  

“What?  What are you talking about?”

It was too late to take it back.  Steve wanted the truth?  Fine.  Apparently it was honesty hour, anyway.  “In the tavern after you first rescued me, you told me the serum fixed _everything_.  And then again, after you were gassed, you were real honest with me.  You told me you used to think of me like that, but you were scared it was coming back.  That’s the point, Steve, you were _better_.  You were _scared_ you still liked me like that.  I didn’t want to dump all of this right back in your damn lap.  You didn’t tell me before the war, so why in the hell would I tell you now that I was dealing with the same thing?  You just don’t talk about that kind of thing.”

“I thought I dreamt that,” Steve frowned before flexing his jaw, “But didn’t you think for a minute to ask me what _I_ wanted?  Especially if you knew I liked you, why the hell didn’t you say anything?”

“Because you have Peggy.  You have your health, these new muscles, this new life as a war hero; hell, you’re a damn super hero!  You finally have _everything_ that you ever wanted and deserved, and you deserve a hell of a lot better than me!” Bucky nearly shouted, emotion stinging his throat. 

“Shouldn’t who I’m with be _my_ choice?!” 

“I’m not a fucking choice, Steve!  This is a career-ender or worse.  I’m already flirting with a blue card discharge if the wrong person catches me.  That’s assuming they don’t lock me up and dissect me instead.  That would be bad enough, but Captain Fucking America outed as a queer?  Your life would be over.”

“I don’t deserve any more than anyone else, Buck!” Steve answered, and Bucky knew he meant it, even if he was dead wrong.  “The only reason I signed up for all of this was so I could do my part.”  
  
“Right, pal.  But that’s the thing: that’s more than most men would do.  Most fellas given the 4F would count their blessings and stay home and take advantage of the fact that girls outnumbered them ten to one.  But not you.  Not Steve Rogers.  Because you’re _better_ than most people, Steve, and you’re sure as hell better than I am.  Maybe I was the only one who could see it until Pegs and Erskine, but it’s the damn truth.  Why do you think they picked you?”

Steve shook his head, “You’re wrong.  You more than anyone knows I’m not some kind of saint, Buck.  You know me.  Don’t tell me you’re subscribing to this Captain America propaganda like everyone else.”

“Of course I’m not, Steve!  You’re what made Cap the hero that he is in the first place and not just some poster child for war bonds.  You made him real.  Look, Steve, I’m already in this hole, but you don’t need to be.  I tried to spare you, and I even managed to fuck that up.”

“You’re not in this alone, Buck.  I wish you hadn’t felt like you needed to deal with this by yourself to begin with, but dammit, I’m involved now and I’m glad I am.”

Bucky snorted, his throat tightening and he could feel the sting of tears welling behind his eyes in a mix of guilt and relief that this was all out in the open.  “Why?”  He managed, unable to keep the emotion from strangling his voice.

“Because you’ve been hurting, Bucky, and it kills me that you were suffering alone for so long.  Tell me that you wouldn’t have wanted me to come to you if this had happened to me, I dare you.  I meant it when I said I’m with you till the end of the line.  I want you to know I know this isn’t your fault, and I’m not angry about what happened.”

Bucky looked to Steve with incredulity plain on his face.  “You’re not angry?  How?  Fuck, Steve – I took your virginity in a lust-induced frenzy.  You have every right to be pissed.”

“Because I love you, Bucky.”  Steve blurted out.  “I’ve always loved you even if I didn’t necessarily know it.  The fact that my first time was with you: I don’t regret that.  I just wish that the circumstances had been different.”

Bucky’s chest felt tight.  He wanted to hold onto Steve’s words, take them into his very being and return them to him with every ounce of the love he felt in his heart.  But that felt so selfish, and Bucky didn’t deserve that.  Not now.  Not after everything he’d done.  “What about Peggy?”  Bucky said instead.

“I care deeply for Peggy, Buck.  I might even love her, too.  But I never got over you.  I was fooling myself when I thought I was cured.”

“But if I never said anything and this never happened, you and she would get together, probably get married and live happily ever after.” Bucky’s voice was hollow and his tail wrapped around his knees.  He felt too emotionally exhausted to move it away. “And you should.  Peggy’s amazing, and I can tell that she loves you, too.”

“Even I can’t tell the future, Buck.”  It was a lame excuse, because Steve knew he was right.  He would have been happy with Peggy, without this complication in his life.  “But hindsight is twenty-twenty.  I wish you’d told me you were queer sooner.  We both probably would have been a whole lot better off back in Brooklyn not having to hide from each other."

Bucky shook his head tightly.  No no no, he couldn’t do this to Steve, no matter how tempting it was.  He couldn’t be responsible for sending him off on this detour to fucking nowhere.  He knew it would hurt Steve, but he had to in order to get the idea out of his head that he was a real option.  Bucky painfully forced the lie out of his mouth: “I never said I was queer before this.”  

Bucky wasn’t prepared for Steve’s expression when the words hit him.   His mouth fell open in stunned silence and the pain across his face was plain as fucking day.  “Oh…” Steve whispered, a self-conscious wince crossing his face as he swallowed bitterly.  “I’m sorry, Bucky, I assumed-”  He stopped himself, and tried to redirect, “This must all be really terrifying for you.  I hope that you’re not angry with me for taking advantage of your… situation last night.”  

Fuck, of course Steve would ironically feel guilty for taking advantage of _him_.  Regret swam in Bucky’s chest, and he very nearly apologized, the truth on the tip of his tongue.  But he forced himself to swallow back the words.  The damage had already been done; it was for the best.  If Steve knew he always had liked him, too, then there was no chance Steve would ever let himself move on.  “Never, Steve.” He whispered.  “You didn’t take advantage of me.  If it wasn’t you, it would have been someone else.  Hydra’s the one who took advantage of me.”

After a moment, Steve’s expression tightened and determination covered up the obvious pain beneath the surface.  “We’re going to find a way to fix this.  Hydra did this and so there’s got to be a way to undo it.  We’ll find the right facilities and the right people.”  

Bucky was suddenly enveloped in Steve’s arms.  Whatever was left of his mask of bravado shattered as he felt his shoulders shake and wet tears flow down his cheeks.  He didn’t fucking deserve Steve Rogers.  “I’ve been looking, Steve.  But mission after mission, there’s been nothing.  Nothing about the experiments and no trace of Zola.”  
  
“Yeah, you jerk, that’s because you never told us how important it was that we actually target Hydra bases that might be dealing with materials related to Zola’s experiments.  We didn’t think that there was any credit to his research; if we had then we probably would have prioritized it sooner, and not just for your sake.  Now I know.  We’ll find Zola and we’ll make him change you back, I promise.”

“I hope so.” Bucky murmured, unable to summon the same confidence that Steve had found.  

“I’m not going to give up on you, Bucky.  We’re in this together now.  And if it gets bad again, I don’t want you risking your neck and having to go do that with strangers again.  You could get reported, hurt, or worse.”

“Steve-”  He couldn’t be offering what he thought he was offering.  

“No, I mean it.  I don’t care if you weren’t like this before.  I want you to tell me when it gets bad again.  If this is something you need, then I want to be the one to give it to you.”

Bucky swallowed.  Being able to go to Steve when he got hungry, fall into his arms and take him inside him sounded so nice.  The sex last night had been so intense and more satisfying than even the four guys in the alley.  Despite the shame and guilt, Bucky physically felt amazing.  He _wanted_ to be with Steve again, he wanted to at least have one thing less to worry about, but most of all he selfishly wanted that connection with him.  But stringing him along like that would just make things worse for Steve in the long run.  He couldn’t really argue with him now, though: he knew Steve well enough to know he wouldn’t hear it.  “I’ll let you know.” He said simply.  If Bucky were lucky he’d be good for at least another month.  And with their efforts directed towards the right Hydra bases, maybe that would be long enough.  

Steve let out the breath he’d been holding.  “Good.  Thank you, Bucky.”

“And what if we can’t fix this?  What if I’m stuck like – like _this?”_ Bucky’s tail thumped against the mattress behind him for emphasis. “Or what if it gets worse?  I don’t know how bad this is going to get or what it is they’ve turned me into!”  

“We’ll find a cure, Buck.”

 “Okay, and even if I am fixed: then what?  You’ll still have lost your shot with Peggy all because of me, right?  It’s damned if you do and damned if you don’t.”

“You don’t know that.  I’m not going to lie to Peggy, regardless of what happens.  Let me deal with that.  But I’m not going to turn my back on you when you need my help, and I’m done lying to myself about how I feel about you.  I hope that doesn’t make you feel uncomfortable.”  

“No, Steve.” Bucky whispered, leaning into his shoulder, “I don’t deserve you, I really don’t.”

“Of course you do.” A heavy hand clasped the back of his neck, “How many times did you look after my sorry ass when I was laid up and sick?  How many extra shifts did you pull to help keep food on the table and get my medicine when I couldn’t work?”  Bucky shrugged, spurring Steve on, “You always had my back when I was five dollars worth of mad in a ten-cent body.  You’re every bit as good as I am, Buck.  You’re the one who doesn’t deserve what’s happened to you.”

Bucky shrugged self-consciously, glad that his face was buried in Steve’s shoulder so he couldn’t see how close he was to crying.  “I had a good role-model,” Bucky muffled into him.

“Is there anything else I can do for you right now, Bucky?” Steve asked gently.

“Assuming that we didn’t wake everyone up last night, can we please keep all of this between you and me?”

“Of course.” Steve consented, “And don’t worry about the others.  You’ve got the room on the end, and Dugan’s across the hall and he slept through a mortaring once.”

Bucky actually snorted, “Yeah.  Hell, how’d I forget about that?  He woke up fifteen minutes after it was all over, and only because the rest of us had given up on sleep and put the coffee on.”  His laughter only barely bordered on the hysterical.  

“That’s the spirit.  Now I, ah, really need to go get cleaned up.  Let me go hit the showers, and I can clear the way for you when I’m back and make sure no one barges in on you,” Steve added with an apologetic nod towards Bucky’s tail.  

“Thanks, Steve,” Bucky answered vacantly, the weight of everything settling on his shoulders as Steve got up to leave.    

As soon as the door was closed, Bucky fell back against the pillows, finally letting loose the sobs he’d been holding in. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a heads up, guys- it might be a bit longer than normal for the next update – I usually stay 2-3 chapters ahead, but my buffer's nearly closed entirely (but I wanted to get this chapter out to kind of tie up this cliffhanger-section ;) ), and I have a BUSY Weekend/week ahead that won’t afford me as much time to write. But still, should be TOO much of a break ;) I’m as eager to write and share my story as I’m sure many of you are to read it!
> 
> Hope you all have an awesome HALLOWEEN! 8D


	22. Chapter 22

“Becca, please, it’s me!  Your big brother, Bucky!”  He desperately reached for her, but gruesome clawed monstrosities extended towards her in place of his arms.  

 “You’re not my brother!” Becca sobbed, fear-stricken as she shoved him back and ran behind her mother’s leg.  

 “I don’t know who you are, but get away from my daughter!” his father’s voice boomed out from another corner of the room.  “Our son died fighting valiantly in Azzano.  How dare you sully his name like this, you monster?!”

Bucky spun to face him, and the figure of his father towered over him, anger and revulsion marring his face.  “No, Dad!  It’s still me, I-“ the words died in his throat as he could see his own twisted visage reflected back in his father’s eyes.  That wasn’t him; it couldn’t be.  

“Get out of our house and crawl back into whatever hole you drug yourself out of!”  Why did he ever think he could return home like _this_?  

“Bucky.  Hey, Bucky.”  Steve’s voice joined the chorus and Bucky turned, shame already choking back his words.  Steve stood there, in a button-up shirt that barely hid his jutting collar bones, a disgusted expression on his face.  Please, not Steve, too.  He couldn’t let him see him as a monster!  
  
“Bucky. I think you’re having a nightmare.”  

What?   
  
The visage swam, and the horrified, fine-boned face was replaced with a lantern jaw and an earnest, worried expression.    
  
“Hey, you okay, Buck?  You were tossing and turning something awful.”  

“Yeah, just fuckin’ peachy.”  Christ, it was just a nightmare.  He had tried to avoid thinking about what it would be like going home after everything he’d done and what had been happening to him, but apparently his subconscious hadn’t gotten the memo.  If they couldn’t fix it, how was he ever supposed to face his family again? Regular soldiers had a hard enough time going back home and reintegrating into society after having been at war, and Bucky was now a far cry from normal.   It was one thing dealing with this on the battlefield, but the idea of hiding a secret like this back home around friends and family and gossiping neighbors while trying to pretend to have a normal life?  That was terrifying.  

Steve frowned sympathetically.  “Your shift’s up.  I haven’t woken Morita yet, though, and Dugan’s already hit the hay.  So if you want, I can give you a few minutes.”  
  
“No, trust me, I’ve slept plenty.”  This was far from the first nightmare that had plagued him since he had grown a tail and fallen into bed with Steve the other night.  But rather than the tantalizing wet dreams that surfaced when he started to grow hungry, these dreams had been full of grotesque imagery that served to remind him of just how much of a monster he’d become.  Bucky wasn’t sure which was worse. 

Bucky drew himself out of his sleeping bag, feeling twitchy and anxious.  He should be looking ahead.  Despite how bad things had gotten, for the first time in almost a year, he was following a real, honest to God lead.  Steve had done just as he’d promised and had spent a couple of days pouring over intel before choosing a target that seemed to be the final destination of some of the occult trappings: a Hydra base in Leszno, Poland.  They'd been air-dropped as close as reasonably possible earlier that evening, though that still meant at least a couple weeks of careful travel behind enemy lines.  Along the way, they would do their best to cripple supply chains before a scheduled rendezvous to join with a Soviet battalion for the final assault on the fortified Hydra base.  

“Sure thing, Buck, but you might want to, ah, address that before you poke Morita.” Steve gave a pointed look towards something squirming in Bucky’s pant leg.  

With a wince, Bucky ran his hand along the side of his trousers, trying to still his twitching tail.  

Growing a damn tail was bad enough, but in the couple days before setting off on a new mission, Bucky had discovered the added complication of just how often the fucking thing wanted to move, telegraphing his emotions and generally trying to draw attention to itself.  It was a damn good thing he was a trained sniper and knew how to hold his body still, but Bucky couldn’t stay focused on keeping it motionless all the time.  So in the couple of intervening days, he’d tried some solutions.  Leaving it free in his pants hadn’t worked at all; it moved too frequently and was far too obvious.  And when he’d tied it along the back of his leg he’d wound up sitting painfully on it at least four times.  Binding it along the outside of his thigh with bandages had worked the best so far, but even that couldn’t keep it completely immobile.  It still twitched when he got anxious or annoyed or flicked when he was startled.  Everything managed to continuously remind him of its presence: concentrating on it so it wouldn’t move, or forgetting about it for a time and feeling it wriggle against his leg.  He couldn’t escape the constant reminder that he had truly changed.  

And fuck, rubbing his hand along it through the fabric shouldn’t feel fucking good, but it was still so damn sensitive; the same kind of sensitive that would cause a dame to gasp and squirm when you kissed the back of her neck or along her ear.  Bucky grit his teeth and breathed through his nose while Steve watched helplessly.   

“Is there anything I can-“  
  
“ _No_ , Steve.” Bucky cut him off irritably.    
  
“Does it hurt?”  
  
“No,” Bucky breathed, adjusting his tone and chiding himself for snapping at Steve.  “It’s just weird.”  This wasn’t his fault; he was just trying to help.  Just both of them were well over their heads in the weirdness factor.  The tail had been a wake-up call.  The enhancements were one thing, but an honest-to-God physical transformation?  Bucky was shaken by just how undeniably real things had gotten.  And yet, there was a small part of Bucky – the same part of him that had eaten through dimestore novels faster than he could afford new ones and drug Steve out to each and every new monster movie and pulp flick that he could – that found this a tiny bit amazing.  Impossible: sure.  Horrifying: of course.  But after the initial panic of his change had passed, he was left with a remnant disbelief at his predicament.  He’d gone from not believing in magic – like any sensible fella – but loving stories that dealt with it, to having to face the very real question of _what_ he was, because he sure as hell wasn’t completely human anymore.      
  
Steve fidgeted uncomfortably, opening and closing his mouth with a few aborted attempts at responses before he finally settled on, “You don’t have to deal with this alone anymore, Buck.  I have a good feeling about the base in Poland; we’ll fix this.”  
  
“I hope you’re right.” Bucky sighed.  But at least they did have a plan.  That alone was miles beyond where he’d been a few days ago when he was just crossing his fingers and hoping to come across a clue, all the while his condition worsened.  And hell, it might still be in the process of getting worse.  Feeding seemed to be what drove on his changes, so all he had to do was not feed again, and he shouldn’t get any worse, right?  He was still definitely on a tingling high after Steve had slaked his hunger.  After how much he’d fed, If he played his cards right, he should be fine at least until after Leszno.  And then, maybe just maybe, if he was lucky they’d find a cure there and he wouldn’t have to take Steve up on his offer again.  He wouldn’t get any worse, and maybe it wouldn’t be too late for Steve to move on with his life.  

“Do you want me to stay up with you?  I’d be happy to talk with you about what you’re going through, Buck.  I’m sure Morita wouldn’t complain about the extra sleep.”

 “I’ll be fine, Steve.  You oughta catch some sleep before we get a move on tomorrow.  I’ll wake Jim.”  Super soldier or no, Steve needed to take care of himself and get some damn rest.  Besides, Bucky had done enough talking about and miring in his issues for the time being. 

*  
Bucky balled up the third sheet of paper with a huff.  After that nightmare, he realized how much he’d been putting off writing home lately.  Besides, he needed something else to think about because otherwise his mind just kept going in fucking circles of pessimistic introspection.  So what better way to quiet his worries than through a letter to his family?  Bucky always tried to make his letters home positive, telling Becca about something he saw that she would’ve loved, or how much of a difference they were making out there, or promises about what he was going to do when he came back home.  Let them see the smiling devil-may-care Bucky they remembered who showed up in the newsreels. Let them remember the confident, charming young man eager to take life by the horns instead of the beaten-down, worried, and utterly changed soldier.  The last thing he wanted was for his family to know was just how hard things were out here.  But while he was trying to write, his worries edged back into his thoughts, making it too difficult to remember a funny anecdote or genuinely come up with something he wanted to do back home when he was so scared that he wouldn’t be the same person who left if he did make it back.  

 “You’ve been quiet, Bucky.  You usually can’t keep your yap shut on watch.”  
  
“Yeah, well, guess I’m scared if I keep it open too long my spit’s gonna freeze.  We can’t even light a damn fire out here.”

“It ain’t that bad, Barnes.  It’s only late fall.  Just wait till winter.”

“Yeah well, it’s a lot colder out here than it was in England.”

“Numb fingers keeping you from writing, huh?”  Morita asked with a wry twist of his mouth.

Bucky shrugged.  “Yeah, something like that.”

“That or the fact you’re trying to write in the dark, huh?”  
  
Bucky froze, eyes darting to the night sky, where the moon was only the barest sliver.  Fuck.  Fuck fuck fuck!  Had his night vision really gotten that good?  Was he too caught up in his problems to even realize his slip?

“Let me tell you something, Bucky,” Morita continued before Bucky had the chance to come up with some kind of excuse.  “There’s a reason I’m not sending many letters back home.  Hell if even half of them make it there, and the ones that do are censored all to hell because my family’s living in the camps.”

“The camps…?” 

“I figured you might not have heard about this, because you’re from New York.  After Pearl Harbor, the government claimed that “for our own safety” anyone of Japanese descent living from New Mexico to Washington, you know, where most of us live, were sent to ‘relocation centers’.  I’m a _Nisei_ : that means I’m a second-generation American.  I was born in America.  I grew up in America and I’ve never even visited Japan.  My parents wanted me to grow up as an American and everything that meant.  My brother William and I were even given American names.  But it didn’t matter.  They pulled us away from our home with no choice.  My parents had to abandon the shop they’ve been running for thirty years.  And right now, they’re still back in Manzanar: a camp out in the middle of the California desert, with barbed wire fences and guards with machine guns.  The whole family has to live in an ‘apartment’ smaller than our old bedroom without even a full partition between them and the next family.  I know this because I was there for almost a year myself.  Early last year, the WRA sent out surveys looking for men willing to join up for the war effort.  They didn’t even let us volunteer for the war before then, you know.  My family still gets shit from other internees because I went off to help the country that locked us up.”  
  
“Christ Morita,” Bucky spluttered, “I had no idea.  I mean, I thought I read something about a relocation in the papers, but I thought it was more like, I dunno, sent to some other city or something.”  Christ, if the government could treat its own citizens that badly just because their family was from Japan, what would they do to him if he went home without having been cured?

Morita shook his head.  “Look, the point I’m trying to get at is this: even if there are some assholes in power that think my family and ones like mine might be some kind of threat, it doesn’t mean that they are.  And it sure as hell doesn’t mean that I regret for an instant that I signed up to do my part to help _my_ country.  Because it still is my country, too.  I’m an American, and a damned proud one.  I’m not just fighting for the country that it is, but the country that I know it can be.  I still get a lot of shit sometimes when we’re on base, but I’ve also made the best friends of my life out here.  So just because not everyone likes me because of who or what I am doesn’t mean they’re right, and they’re not going to stop me from doing what I know is the right thing.”

Bucky was quiet for a moment, chewing on his lip.  Morita knew.  He may not know everything, but he knew enough to know he was different and scared.  Finally, he twisted his lips into a fond smile, “You sound like Steve.”

“Yeah, well, there’s a reason I liked the guy enough to follow him back in.  You know what he said to me after Kreischberg? ‘America is in your heart just as much if not more than it’s in theirs.  You’ve seen it at its best as well as its worst.  America’s not the politicians: they’re supposed to be the ones serving the country and what she stands for.  America is her people.’”

After a moment, Bucky worked past the frog in his throat, “Thanks, Jim.  I think I needed that.”

“Yeah, don’t worry about it, Barnes.  You’re a good man, and I for one am damn glad you’ve got our back out here.”  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alrightie guys! Maybe I lied in the last footnote about slowing things down a bit. I'm so close to the end of this first fic I can almost taste it, so I'm not going to worry so much about the dwindling buffer between what I have posted and pre-written.


	23. Chapter 23

Bucky shivered, drawing himself as far as he could into his thick peacoat.  Right now, he didn’t care that he looked a little ridiculous with the collar popped; his ears ached from the frigid wind blowing over them thanks to the damn open-air GAZ-67.  Granted, sure, it made sense that the sniper needed the best sight lines, so he was assigned to the Soviet equivalent of a jeep, but he could swear he could actually hear Dugan’s whooping and hollering from the IS Tank that he’d gotten to ride in, the lucky bastard.    

Still, as miserable as the surprise early Polish winter had been, Bucky couldn’t help but feel the pins and needles of excitement – or maybe that was just frostbite – seeing as they were now less than a mile from the Hydra compound outside of Leszno.  Sure, the trip had taken longer than they had planned thanks to the weather, and damn if that hadn’t been a wretched slog, mostly on foot mind you.   The cold seemed to sap his strength and make every mile on the road feel like three, and traveling with the Howlies while astutely aware of a fucking tail hidden in his pants had been stressful to put it mildly.  But since they rendezvoused with the Soviets, who were well-trained and unhindered by a little snow, Bucky’s mood had turned around.  Many of the members of this specialized task force that had forayed beyond the Eastern Front had personally fought in Stalingrad and were tough, well armed, and eager to cripple the Axis from within.  Traveling by vehicle was also a big plus, cold wind or no.  

And despite the fact that Bucky was now pushing a month since his encounter with Steve, he was doing all right, especially considering the miserable expedition.  It almost made him wonder how long he could have gone after that intense session if his body hadn’t also had to deal with regrowing the tail he’d stupidly cut off.  Though with his luck, he’d probably have gotten worse instead.  Maybe he shouldn’t have been surprised at just how potent the effects of being with Steve were; after all, he was a fucking super soldier.  Bucky still found himself fantasizing about how different the sex with him had felt, the relentless series of orgams… and filling his nose with the scent of _Steve;_ kissing and touching the man he’d denied his feelings towards for over a decade.  Only now was the edge starting to wear off: the first of the craving dreams starting to bug him at night, and stray thoughts like that one right there flitting through his mind when he should be watching for other goddamn snipers.  

Not that he had let Steve know his satedness was starting to wane.  It had taken more willpower than Bucky liked to admit to turn down Steve’s occasional offers for company in the cold nights, assuring him he was still doing fine – which he had been then, in his defense!  Besides, it was nothing he couldn’t handle at this point, even if there was a part of him that really wanted to take Steve up on his offer for all kinds of reasons he didn’t want to begin to unpack.  Even now, a thought prodded at him that it sure as hell would be nice going into a fight full and on his game rather than starting to feel a little ragged around the edges.  No... _no_ , the whole goddamn point to this assault was to find the information he needed to settle this once and for all so he didn’t need to get laid like a druggie needed a fix.  And, of course, undo the physical aberration that this curse had wrought.  He couldn’t let himself lose sight of that.  

But speaking of sights… hot damn there it was.  A factory the size of a baseball stadium crested into view with tall, heavy-duty concrete walls and plumes of sickly grey-green smoke rising out of the chimneys.  Granted, Bucky had been picturing something more archaic like another castle or medieval keep, but he didn’t give a damn if it was a Gimbels as long as it had the answers he needed.  One day, maybe two, and they’d have this place cleared of Hydra and scoured for information.  He could hold out till then, no problem.  

*  
It was like they’d thrown a rock at a hornet’s nest.  

Hydra soldiers swarmed through the holes that had been blasted into walls of the factory, armed to the teeth and outnumbering them at least four to one.  Sure, the Soviets had brought tanks, and they had Captain America, but the familiar sizzle and flashes of blue light was a bad, bad sign that set Bucky’s hair on edge and he couldn’t keep his tail from squirming and wrapping tighter around his leg.  Memories of how the Battle of Azzano had turned out assaulted his mind’s eye.  At least this time, they had the element of surprise, and they were the ones surrounding the factory, but all the logic and tactics in the world couldn’t argue with plain old fear.  

Bucky had worried about the fact that many of the targets along the way to the factory had been absent.  They already were operating on old intelligence, and as it turned out, it wasn’t that this factory hadn’t been well supplied, but that the supply routes had been diverted at some point after the manifest they were basing their plans on had been written.  Bucky tried not to think too hard about what outdated intelligence might mean for what the base contained.

About two thirds of their forces had already breached the perimeter, invading the factory from two different points of ingress while Bucky had held back with Dernier, the Soviet snipers, and men manning the heavy artillery positioned around the factory.  But even with open radio channels (this was about the furthest thing from a stealth mission), chaos erupted over the hissing voicebox in a mix of Russian and English, and made it difficult to tell exactly what the hell was going on inside.

The deadly game of whack-a-mole continued into the second hour, making Bucky start to genuinely worry about Hydra’s “cut off one head…” motto, but his hands remained steady and he barely had to pull his eyes from the scope as he spotted and took down target after target.  His mind was separating friend from foe in a split second, taking down men who dared foray outside the facility to confront the perimeter, or even those who carelessly passed by windows.  He had barely looked up since the fighting began, zoning in on his job and tuning out the background noise of the radio.  It was almost too easy not to think about the actual lives he was taking, letting the cold shroud of a sniper's detachment settle over him, until a flash of light and the electric smell of ozone struck not ten feet away from him like blue lightning.  Bucky’s head snapped away from his scope to see a perfectly round hole in the snow around a greasy black smear on the ground, an abandoned Dragunov still set up and aimed at the facility.  Bucky’s stomach flipped when the realization struck him that Sasha, one of the highly-decorated Soviet snipers, had been positioned there.  He hadn’t even had time to scream.  Bucky was forcibly ejected from his tunneled focus as he ducked behind a wall, heart hammering in his chest.

Bucky forced himself to close his eyes for a moment and breathe once, then twice, before he glanced back over the partition and spied a Hydra agent positioned on the roof attempting to replace a glowing power cell into one of the fucking ray guns.  The exposed blue battery stuck out like a fucking sore thumb.  This was probably the fucker that got Sasha.  In a split second, there was a bullet in the man’s head as Bucky whipped his rifle around and took him down.  At the very fucking least, as devastating as the blasts were, they could only get a shot or two off per power cell, and that made them vulnerable.  He wished he’d known that in Azzano.

He cast his eyes around the battlefield, reassessing the situation.  While there were still sizable forces surrounding the facility, greasy smears dotted the snow around the complex, each one representing a life lost without even a body that could be sent back home for burial.  The bits and pieces he’d gleaned from radio chatter indicated that they’d run into a larger force on the inside than they’d been anticipating, too.  Between the smaller, focused raids and typically well-planned missions, they hadn’t had a battle this difficult since they’d formed the Howlies, and Bucky couldn’t completely silence the voice in his head that needled him that this was his fault.  Sure, they were tasked with taking down all of Hydra eventually, but Steve had probably rushed the planning on this mission because it was the best shot they had at a facility with a connection to Zola and the occult.  They were operating on old intel and next to no recon.  He’d pushed forward when they hadn’t come across most of the supply chain because he was trying to do this for him.  Damn it all, why hadn’t he seen this sooner?  

Steve’s distinctive voice suddenly crackled over the radio, “-in… support… going to make my way to you guys.  Keep together, and stay with the wounded… soon. ”  

Fuck, this was going to hell in a hand basket and fast.  Bucky took another visual sweep of the complex.  There weren’t many Hydra goons left on this side of the building… visible from the outside at least.  Brief indecision stirred in his gut before he swapped out his M1941 Johnson for his Thompson and bee-lined it for the nearest hole in the side of the factory.  He had a really bad feeling about this.

*

Dust and debris clogged the air as Bucky rounded another corner in the tight, mazelike corridors.  Bullet holes riddled the thick concrete walls and an unsettling number of crumpled bodies lined the corridor, friend and foe alike.  All signs pointed to the fighting on the inside having been just as brutal, if not more so, than the warzone outside.  Shouting and claxons intermingled to a form a cacophony that made his head ring, but meant that he didn’t have to worry about being quiet to get the drop on Hydra goons not expecting a lone soldier.  And while Bucky had no logical way to know where Steve was in this massive labyrinth of a facility, when he thought about him – and boy was he thinking about Steve and worried as all hell - it was like his legs knew where to go.  

And sure enough, just as Bucky was about to turn one more corner, a gaggle of Soviet soldiers rounded the bend, nearly running into him.  Many of them were limping or carrying other bleeding, injured, and hopefully merely unconscious fellows.  

“This way’s clear,” Bucky shouted over the din, jerking his thumb back the way he came. “There’s a blast hole in the wall a story down and a few dozen yards south.   Follow the bodies of Hydra soldiers: I left a trail.”

The man at the lead turned and translated it to Russian, giving Bucky an indebted nod before leading the squad of men down the hallway. 

“Bucky?” Steve’s voice called back, and as Bucky passed the retreating soldiers and the final turn, there he was: shield up and guarding their retreat.  

“Right here, pal.  I heard you over the com; sounded like things were gettin’ hairy, and the fighting was dying down in my sector.”

Steve exhaled with a huff, looking drawn between chastising Bucky for breaking ranks and relieved to see him.  “Thanks, Buck.” He finally settled on, “Hydra had the men pinned down.  I made my way here and shook them loose… but you should have radioed and let us know.”  
  
“Yeah, well, the signal was spotty and I didn’t want to waste any more fucking time, so you’re welcome.”  Like breaking away from the unit Steve had been with and going to rescue this group of soldiers had been a part of his battle plan.  But Bucky had seen the look of shaken relief in the eyes of the men: they knew that their number had been up until Captain Fucking America himself had saved their asses.  He saw the way soldiers’ attitudes changed, straightening up and fighting that much harder whenever Cap was there.  There was a point to this mantle Steve had taken on his shoulders, like Atlas bearing the weight of the world.  It didn’t matter to Steve how risky it was to him if other lives were on the line; it didn’t matter if all people saw was his mask and not the man beneath it.  The world needed Captain America, and Bucky was a damn fool if he hadn’t seen that sooner.  

Steve shook his head at himself, eyes softening, “I’m glad you’re here, Buck.  They’re going to need some time to make it back behind the line, and they’re not moving quick.  We beat back one wave before they left, but more are on the way.  I’m going to need you to – GRENADE!”

Fuck – with all the noise, he hadn’t heard them coming in time, because the next thing he knew, a hand grenade landed in front of Steve, exploding almost immediately upon impact.  Heat and noise erupted into the corridor in a fiery cloud, and an intense flare of pain blossomed in Bucky’s chest.  For a moment, he swore he was hit.  But when the smoke cleared and he could see again, there wasn’t a scratch on him; instead, Bucky realized with surprising clarity, he could fucking _feel_ that Steve was hurt; _that_ was the sudden pain in his chest.  

Steve was crouched in front of him, hissing and groaning: shrapnel embedded in both shaking and bleeding legs where he hadn’t had time to cover them behind the shield.  No, that wasn’t right: based on the angle he was holding it, he’d shielded Bucky from the explosion, but left his own damn legs vulnerable.  God damn it, Steve!  

Steve’s legs buckled as he went down; Bucky’s chest was on fire, and so was his temper.  The fuckers, the _fuckers_ – they hurt him!

He reacted without thinking, without any regard for his own safety, tearing past Steve and racing down the hallway, scooping up Steve’s dropped shield as he went.  He could barely hear the satisfying ping of bullets or the own scream tearing from his throat over the ringing in his ears from the close-quarters explosion.  

He moved like a creature possessed.  Savagely, he hurled the shield into the cluster of Hydra soldiers who had appeared at the far end of the hallway.  The edge buried itself into the chest of the man in the front, who dropped like he was shot, and Bucky was on them by the time his body hit the floor.  He drew his knife in a clean line across the unarmored eyes of the man to his right while his hand closed around the throat of the man to his left, whose scream turned into a frantic gurgle.  With a spinning pivot and a display of inhuman strength, Bucky whipped the man he was still gripping by the neck around in an arc until he collided with the man now covering his bleeding face.  The knife in his other hand followed his deadly spiral, slicing open the men unfortunate enough to be closest to him.  

Bucky didn’t slow for a moment.  It felt as if he were dancing along to the music of the tinny ringing in his ears, moving without thinking as if his body already knew all the steps.  Before the men around him hit ground, he snagged a sidearm from one of their holsters.  And with one precise shot immediately after the other, he unloaded the clip, taking down eight men who were still gaping at what they were witnessing before slamming the stock of the spent gun with bone-crushing force into the face of a man who was in the process of raising his own gun. 

One movement flowed naturally into the next deadly strike as Bucky mercilessly tore his way through the mob of Hydra soldiers, ducking and weaving as guns were aimed or knives were pulled, slipping between arms to strike and break and crush in a ruthless display of violence.  

Bucky spun to face the last remaining soldier, panicked desperation written all over the younger man’s face as he jerked the pin from a grenade squeezed tightly in his fist.  Bucky snarled, tackling him and pinning the grenade beneath the flailing cadet.  A moment later, the body beneath him convulsed with the impact of another explosion, absorbing the shrapnel and force of the blast, but a wave of heat washed painlessly over him: the flash of warmth almost a welcome change from the frigid weather that had permeated even the factory interior.  

Only then did silence settle over the hallway like falling snow, save for the jackhammer of his pulse in his ears over the fading ringing… and slowly approaching footsteps.  Bucky’s head snapped around, hand clutching a knife instinctively before his haze cleared and revealed Steve and… oh God… he was looking at him like he was some kind of wild animal, hands out in a placating gesture and lips pursed in concern.  “Buck… hey, Buck?  You okay?” There was a limp in his gait, and shrapnel still obviously embedded in his shins, but he was okay… he was okay… 

 Bucky dropped the knife, distantly hearing it clatter against the concrete floor as his body began to shake as shock and horror rushed to fill in the vacancy left by the ebbing fury.  His chest felt like it was being squeezed in a vice.  What the hell did he just do?!  What was wrong with him?!

Suddenly, his radio squacked to life, Dugan’s voice peppering through static, “… tides’re turning, boys!  Soviet’s rallied…”

Bucky lurched to his feet, wavering uncertainly as he looked between Steve and the now deserted hallway.  

He couldn’t deal with this AND Steve right now.  Bucky turned, snatching up his Thompson, and sprinted into the welcoming darkness of the hallway.

*

Bucky couldn’t say how long he stalked the halls alone like a revenant, burying his anger and fear under cold detachment. He forced his mind into the terrifying quiet, because for once, it was easier to deal with than the anger and shame that boiled in his blood.  The few Hydra soldiers he encountered on his path he dispatched with clinical precision.  

But every Hydra soldier he offed, each room he checked to find nothing more than mundane munitions or, at best, more of the blue energy weapons, fed into his self-disgust and mounting desperation.  There was nothing here: not so much as a single god-damned rune, let alone evidence that a ritual had ever been conducted on the premises.  

He could only keep the mounting tide of sickening horror and hopelessness back so long, and in the end, it was Steve’s voice over the hiss of the radio that ultimately shattered his resolve to pieces.  

“Has there been any check in by Sargeant Barnes?”  There was worry in Steve’s voice, and that bit of guilt was the straw that broke the camel’s back.  

A few negatory responses from the other Howlies came over the channel before Bucky finally picked up the radio.  “Barnes here. I’m in the Western quadrant.  I’m fine.”  He clicked off the transmission before his voice cracked.  

He was most certainly not fine.  And as he stood there, radio in his hands, reality finally crashed down around his ears.  The sharp metallic tinge of blood assaulted his nose so strongly that he could taste it.  The front of his jacket was nearly soaked through, so deep purple it was nearly black, but it wasn’t his blood.  He felt the tail slide around his leg, rustling the fabric of his trousers as it betrayed the fear he had desperately tried to keep bottled down.  God, at some point it must have come loose from its bindings.  And only then, as Bucky finally checked himself over, did he realize that he had in fact been injured.  A half dozen slices and cuts perforated his jacket and trousers, beneath which were healing scrapes.  Maybe they were glancing shots from bullets or stray pieces of shrapnel from when he’d pinned the Squid-Nazi to his grenade, but he had been so focused, so driven, he hadn’t even realized he had been hit.  God, how dangerous had he become?  What had this war, this _curse_ done to him?  

Panic gripped him by the throat, squeezing until he could barely get a breath. The gunpowder and plaster-dust in the air nearly sent him into a coughing fit.  He needed to get out of there.  He needed to – he didn’t fucking know – clean himself up, fix himself, pull himself fucking together!

*

A quiver had taken over Bucky’s body by the time he had found a quiet area in what had once been a courtyard in the factory.  He barely made it outside before he fell against a wall, and just focused on trying to steady his gulping breaths.  He wanted to tear himself out of his skin, break apart the walls, or somehow do both at the same time.  He was getting worse, fuck he was getting worse, and he knew, he _knew_ there was nothing here that was going to solve his problems.  He had the gall to dare to hope that there were going to be something here that would fix him, but it was just another goddamn dead end!  His tail lashed visibly under the fabric, as if it were agreeing with him.  A hysterical laugh bubbled out of Bucky’s throat as the impromptu thought occurred to him that he was never going to be able to fucking play poker again with this goddamned thing.  

He grit his teeth, squeezed his eyes shut and dug his fingers through his hair.

_Come on, Barnes.  Pull yourself together.  You’ve made it this far; you can’t lose it now.  Just breathe. One thing at a time.  First step: fix the tail._

Surreptitiously, he glanced around to make sure he was alone before undoing his belt and dropping his pants.  

His tail took it as an invitation, flicking itself loose of the fabric and waving about in the cold air.  And fuck if it wasn’t a relief to let it stretch; he hated to admit how frustratingly restless it had felt having been bound down for so long.  Since England, it hadn’t gotten any longer, but the color had faded from the fresh pink of new skin to match the rest of him on the half closest to his ass, and the rest of it had been gradually darkening to a mottled, dark, warm gray color.  It was smooth and hairless, and, Bucky was pointedly reminded as he grabbed hold of it with an irritated curl of his lip, a fucking erogenous zone.

Desire licked through his system and Bucky swallowed thickly.   Now that the battle was over and the fight was leaving his system, he realized just how worn down and bone tired he felt in its wake.  He was cold, hungry and, fuck, needy.  There was a growing part of him that wanted nothing more than to find Steve and crawl into his arms for reassurance, to feel his hands on him and…  
  
“Hey, Bucky?  Are you okay?” 

Bucky nearly jumped out of his skin, literally caught with his pants down and his fucking tail in his hand, before he realized it was Steve.  Christ, he nearly gave him a fucking heart-attack!  

“No!  I’m not fucking OK!” Bucky snapped.  He was going out of his fucking mind is what he was doing.  “I’m dealing with my fucking _tail_ , Steve, how would I be OK?!”  He said, giving it a vicious shake as he started adamantly tying it back against his thigh like he was supposed to be doing to begin with.  He could feel Steve’s eyes on him, and why shouldn’t he be staring?  Steve hadn’t seen it since the morning it had regrown; Bucky had made damn sure of that.  He hated looking at it himself, so he sure as hell didn’t want to Steve to have to see it again if he could help it.

“Is there anything I can do, Buck?” He hesitated before adding, “I was worried about you.” 

He gave the wraps a sharp tug as he knotted the fabric and let himself look Steve over.  He looked crestfallen and like he was trying to figure out what to do with his hands. Fresh bandages had been wrapped around both of his shins, and he didn’t seem to be walking with much of a limp any more.  

Bucky’s shoulders slumped, “No, hey, I’m sorry.  I’m fine.  I think I just needed to get some air and to deal with this.”  Bucky tugged his pants back up and fumbled around in his pocket, producing the last cigarette he’d been saving, “How about you?  Your legs all right?”  

Steve shrugged, closing the distance and produced a lighter, “I’ll be fine.  Gabe got the shrapnel out.”

Bucky nodded, using the proffered flame to light up and took a long drag, sliding his eyes closed and letting his nerves begin to settle.  “Yeah, course you will.  I shouldn’t have freaked out back there.  That was-”  Bucky shook his head, “I don’t know.  I don’t know what that was.  I was scared and angry and worried about you.”  

He didn’t have to open his eyes to know the frown that was on Steve’s face.  “Acting without thinking was reckless, but I’d be a damn hypocrite if I chastised you for leaping into a fight bigger than you because you were pissed off for a good reason - even if you really don’t have to look out for me like that anymore.” Steve wasn't being a hypocrite, he was being damn charitable.  Bucky had barely felt human when he leapt into the fray like some kind of rabid dog.  Steve continued, either not noticing or not caring about the skeptical frown on Bucky’s face.  “But what I was really worried about, Bucky, was when you set off alone afterwards into an uncleared facility.  You’re lucky you weren’t killed.  You shouldn’t have run from me like that.”

“There’s nothing here is there?” Bucky abruptly changed the subject, bitterness on his tongue.

Steve was quiet for an uncomfortable stretch of time, which said enough on its own. “We haven’t found anything yet, but that doesn’t mean that there’s not something here, or at least information that can point us where to go next.  This is a big facility, and the men in charge had to be in contact with other heads of Hydra.  Gabe, Dernier, and Falsworth are going through a big stockroom we located.  It’s still a big win, even if it was hard won.”

“Mmmm,” Bucky hummed dubiously.  

“This isn’t the end, Buck.  This may not have been what we were looking for, but we’ll find something.  It’s out there.  Zola is still out there, it’s just a matter of time.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t know how much time I’ve got, Steve.” Bucky said with rare frankness, “I’m fucking terrified of what’s happening to me.  I don’t know where it’s taking me or what the hell I’m turning into, but I know I’m getting worse.  I barely feel like myself any more.  I’m scared I’m becoming some kind of actual monster.  I’m scared I’m going to wake up some morning and not know who the fuck I am any more.  I’m scared-“

Steve’s arms were suddenly around him, and Bucky went boneless, letting Steve envelop him with warmth and support.  “It’s still you, Buck.  I know it’s you.  You did what you did back there because you cared about me.”  Steve gave him a squeeze for emphasis, “We’re staying here tonight.  There are more than enough rooms and beds.  The facility’s being cleared and the Soviets are rounding up the last of the surviving Hydra agents and scientists and they’ll be setting off tomorrow.  Please.  Stay with me tonight.”

A frown tugged at Bucky’s mouth.  He should turn him down.  He should say no and just go help in the search for anything useful, but Bucky’s resolve was crumbling around his ears.  He was so goddamned tired, and it was getting harder and harder to find a reason to say no.  

His mouth twitched, “Someone’s gotta keep an eye on those wounds ‘o yours.” Bucky mumbled.  He’d stay with him tonight.  That was all, just… just stay with him.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You may notice I’ve officially turned this fic into a the first of the series, "Falling’s Just Another Way to Fly”!


	24. Chapter 24

Leave it to fucking Hydra to make sure that their scientists never left the premises when they were working on top secret material.  But for Steve, Bucky, and the rest of the Howlies, it meant that they got to sleep in rooms with actual beds and doors, as long as they didn’t mind the complex locking mechanisms installed in said doors.  The room was small, but after a month of sleeping without fires on thin bedrolls on the hard, snow-packed ground, it might as well have been the Ritz.  They even had showers, which Bucky had taken full advantage of.  However, central heating was apparently not considered mission critical, as even deep in the belly of the facility, Bucky could see his breath with each exhale.  Although, all said and done, that might have been a good thing considering the amount of munitions and explosives the search of the facilities had turned up.

Steve was pulling an armful of blankets out of a wardrobe when Bucky quick-stepped back into the room, toweling his hair dry.  Shower-fresh, the chill of winter was quick to leave him shivering.  Already, the thought of sharing a soft bed with Steve, who had turned into a human furnace after the serum, sounded like absolute heaven.  

“How’re your legs feeling?” Bucky asked, as much a pointed reminder to himself that that was objectively why he was staying with Steve tonight as anything else.  

“They’ll be fine,” Steve said stubbornly, looking up, and Bucky could _feel_ the moment Steve’s eyes caught on his half-nude and freshly-showered body.   Steve quickly averted his gaze, focusing instead on making the bed up.  “What about you, Bucky?” he asked, his voice lowering a bit.  “You’ve seemed… on edge.”

Bucky rolled his shoulders with a frown.  “I’ll be fine,” Bucky deliberately parroted back to Steve.  “Today was rough; I don’t think we really knew what we were getting into.”  Disappointment still rested heavily on Bucky’s shoulders.  In his best-case plans, they would have found something here and he’d be on the road to a cure by now.  That’s what he got for being too damn optimistic,

Steve gave a nod, “Even better that we struck here, then,” he pointed out.  “Maybe we weren’t prepared for the fight we got, but we got it.  And now there’s one less active Hydra facility.  So, that’s a win in my book.”  He fluffed a pillow, brushing off the dust to the best of his ability.  “But, seriously,” he said, cautiously bringing it up again.  “I mean, if you’re going to need it eventually..."

Of course Steve would see right through him.  The perfect storm of post-battle exhaustion, disappointment, and the promise of warm comfort in the cold incited the hunger to begin nipping through him.   Bucky swallowed thickly.  He shouldn’t.  His plan was to … to what?  Be cured here?  Well that was fucking shot.  Steve was right: it was just a matter of time till he was consumed by it.  Why risk it and wait?

 _Because_ , he pointedly reminded himself _, every time you do this, it’s going to be that much harder for Steve to move on._   But fuck, who was he kidding?  It was Steve.  It was too late for him not to get invested.  He’d taken his virginity, and he knew Steve well enough to know he wasn’t going to let this go.  

“I- I can put it off a little longer,” He hesitated, but it sounded like a lame excuse, even to his ears.  They were safe here tonight, it was private, and the desire was only going to get worse from here.  

Steve was in front of him immediately, the warmth radiating off of him.  His hands were heavy as they rested on Bucky’s shoulders.  “I trust you,” he said evenly, “I trust you can read your own body…” he exhaled, “…but remember what I said.  I don’t want you going off and risking yourself, and the whole unit, by…” he trailed off with a frustrated grunt and a disturbed shake of his head.

Bucky flinched as if he had been hit.  God, Steve was right: out behind enemy lines, it could be dangerous and not just to him.  He hadn’t considered the potential repercussions for the other Commandos if things really went south.

“Yeah, okay, so maybe I’ve been trying to put this off.  Last time, I grew a fucking tail, Steve!  I’m scared it’s going to get worse.  And if it does, what if it’s something I can’t hide?  I don’t know where this is taking me.”  Bucky’s voice edged on the frantic, and he couldn’t help but lean into Steve’s strong hands for support. 

“We can deal with that if it happens,” he said after a moment.  “One way or another, it’s only a matter of time until you need this again, right?  So it’s either going to get worse, or it won’t.  And if you do wind up having to share this with the Howlies, would you rather it be on or off the battlefield?” Steve’s voice grew softer, “But Bucky, no matter what happens, I’ve got you.  We’ll find a way to fix this, tail and all.”

Bucky huffed, “You’re right,” he said with a cracking groan, “I know you’re right.  And I shouldn’t find that too much of a damn surprise, because you're always right.  And you know it, you ass,” Bucky forced himself to grin.  “I just hate asking this of you.”  

A smile hooked the side of Steve’s mouth.  “Funny, I was just trying to find a way to say I didn’t know how to offer this to you without sounding insanely selfish.”  He stepped closer to Bucky, bringing his hand up to gently cup his face.  “You know this doesn’t have to be some shameful obligation..."

Bucky winced, “Isn’t that what this is?” He whispered hesitantly.  “Is that not what this is for you, too?  You don’t owe me anything, Steve.  Just because I was your first-  just because we’ve been together already doesn’t mean that you’re shackled to me.”  Bucky brought his eyes up to Steve’s, searching them for intent, almost scared of the answer he might find.  What would be worse?  Steve just wanting to help him because he felt obligated, or to find real desire mirrored back at him. 

Steve answered Bucky by swooping down and capturing his lips with his own.  He held him still at the shoulders, keeping his movements slow and deliberate.  Bucky’s protests melted into a longing murmur, his own hand moving to rest on Steve’s waist.  

Steve pulled back for just a moment, looking to Bucky for permission to continue.

Bucky felt off-balance, heady, and would have given nearly anything to have Steve’s lips back on his, “Please,” Bucky’s words betrayed him, “don’t stop.”  

Steve let out a relieved breath as he quickly tasted his lips again, this time eagerly using his tongue to gently spread Bucky’s lips apart under him, opening his jaw and deepening the kiss.  Strong arms wrapped around Bucky and pulled him close, and Bucky could feel his heat and hardness from his chest to his knees.  

Steve’s hands slid down to Bucky’s ass after a moment, squeezing appreciatively before scooping him up and depositing him on his back on the bed.

Bucky licked selfish kisses back into Steve’s mouth, letting his body roll and move beneath the hard press of Steve’s body.  This was already so different from the last time.  Hell, the mere fact he could string coherent thoughts together made things different.  And God, it was Steve.  He wanted this, and Bucky’s whole body lit up with guilty excitement.  But the fact the guilt still lingered at the edges of his desire meant he still had control, and that this was a decision he was making.  

Steve _was_ right.  It was better this way: better to choose this on his terms than wait until the choice was taken from him like before.  

Maybe, just maybe, it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world to just let himself enjoy this.  He’d never been with a man just because he wanted to.  And God, how often had he dreamed of doing just this with Steve?  Bucky dug his fingers into Steve’s hair, pulling his face closer to kiss him hungrily.  

Steve crawled over his body and surrendered his lips willingly.  He settled his weight on him, teasingly bucking his hips in a slow grind.  Steve’s hands wandered over Bucky’s exposed skin; his thumbs sweeping over Bucky’s nipples as he broke the kiss, only to feather kisses over the square of Bucky’s jaw, and further down his neck.

Bucky arched his back and reached up to lay a hand flat against the planes of Steve’s back for support, gasping as Steve sent tingles of pleasure flittering through him.  His body quivered and his tail writhed its way out of the towel barely held in place around his waist.  

“You want me?” Bucky whispered into his ear.  Steve deserved so much better.  He deserved a better life than one with him, but he was a stubborn son of a bitch.  It would have been easier to stop a tank than to stop him from doing what he thought was right.  And Bucky wanted this to stop about as much as he wanted to jump in front of a moving tank.  

“So much,” Steve breathed his answer against his skin, “I want to make this good for both of us,” he said, determination setting into his eyes.  “May I?” he asked, his eyes flitting up to lock with Bucky’s as his hands groped him from over the towel, eagerly gripping at the knot around his waist.

He nodded enthusiastically, his heart fit to burst.  “I want to make you feel so good, Stevie.” He didn’t deserve to take Steve for himself, but he wanted it, oh _God_ did he want him. Bucky pressed his hips upwards, brushing his erection against Steve’s hands through the terrycloth.  

Steve’s lips dragged across Bucky’s collarbone as his hands pulled the towel away.  A blush spread over Steve’s face as his eyes slid down and took Bucky in, fully exposed for him.  “Can I go down on you?” he stammered out, sounding at that moment exactly like the skinny little firecracker Bucky remembered from Brooklyn.

Bucky’s eyebrows crawled nearly up into his hairline.  “You really want to, punk?” Bucky grinned.  “I-I don’t think that – uh – gives me what I need,” although he was more than eager to test that theory, “but-" Bucky added quickly, “I think that’s a good thing. To do it because you want to?” He asked, hopeful.  It almost felt indulgent to do something with Steve because it would feel good and because they wanted to instead of just to sate his supernatural hunger.  It made it mean something. 

Bucky bit his bottom lip in anticipation as Steve swept downwards over his body, letting him trail his lips trail over whatever little crease and curve he desired.  Steve sucked playfully on his jutted hipbone before bringing his face to Bucky’s cock, nuzzling it against his nose and lips before giving the tip an exploratory swirl of his tongue.  His eyes met Bucky’s, making sure he was still good to go.

Bucky’s eyes shone brightly, his pupils blown wide but not overtaking his eyes, as he nodded encouragingly.  “Fuck, Steve, yeah.  That feels – mmmm.” Steve’s perfect lips brushing his cock: that was a picture that was going to get hung in the hall of fucking fame in his head.  

Bucky’s encouragement gave Steve the bravado to continue as he closed his lips around Bucky’s head, sucking gently.  He tongued at the slit as his cheeks hollowed out.  

Nevermind – no, this was now the best new thing in the world.  Bucky settled back on his elbows, but couldn’t tear his eyes away from this sight for a damn minute, despite how badly his eyes wanted to roll back into his head out of sheer pleasure.  

Steve started out slow, apparently acclimatizing himself to the taste of his precome before he let his head dip lower, carefully beginning to explore taking more of his length into his mouth.  He pulled away after a few test bobs, catching his breath for just a moment before going right back in, determined with each pass to go further each time.

Bucky was pointedly reminded of teaching Steve a few boxing movies back at Goldie’s.  Steve took to the challenge like it was a test of his mettle.  And boy did Steve have fucking moxie.  “Oh fuck,” spilled out of Bucky’s mouth as he had to keep himself from thrusting back into Steve’s eager mouth.  The image of determined, skinny Steve with something to prove only made Bucky that much harder. 

Steve hummed approvingly around his cock as he continued to try and take him all.  Surely, if anyone could get it on a first go, it was Steve.  And if some dancer at the Suds Bucket could do it, then he sure as hell oughta be able to. 

Steve pulled back, gulping down air, letting his large, deft hands spread his saliva and Bucky’s precome over his shaft, looking up at him with his chin slick and eyes twinkling with his trademark spirit.  Steve looked fucking pleased with himself and his work so far, and his fingers slid further down his ass and began to tentatively explore his balls and then his puckered hole.  _Wait, was he somehow already slick, or was that just Steve’s moistened fingers?_ But the thought was lost as quickly as it entered his mind when Steve’s finger slipped inside.  Bucky gasped, head finally rolling back as pleasure prickled up and down his spine.  Encouraged, Steve’s mouth went back onto his cock, and he didn’t stop this time until his nose pushed up against Bucky’s hipbone

Bucky’s cock twitched and his toes curled into the sheets as Steve’s fingers began to press inwards.  Bucky’s skin had developed a sheen of sweat, the chill of the room gone under the warm press of Steve’s body and his own mounting desire.  Unconsciously, his tail, which had been lazily swishing back and forth along the sheets, curled tenderly around Steve’s shoulders.  

Steve tensed for only a moment in surprise, before letting one hand come up and tentatively cradle the thing where it pressed against his skin.  

Bucky’s head jerked up when he felt skin come in contact with _it_.  Steve looked up quizzically at Bucky, apparently unsure if he should be encouraging or not and Bucky opened his mouth to say – something – he didn’t know.  But whatever words of protest were at the tip of his tongue instead were jumbled by the sight of Steve’s cheeks swollen with Bucky inside him, his throat restricting with each swallow and he continued his unrelenting bobbing with his head.

And fuck it – it felt good.  It felt _so_ good.  He should feel guilty, and he _would_ feel guilty.  But right now, Bucky was beyond giving a shit about that.  Future-Bucky could deal with that.  Right-Now Bucky was going to enjoy the hell out of this.

Bucky’s head dropped back onto the pillow as he groaned, indulgently leaving his tail where it was.  No one else had ever touched it before, and the warmth and touch of Steve’s skin against it felt amazingly intimate.  

“’m close,” Bucky managed in warning.  

Steve responded by nodding encouragingly, not slowing down in the slightest.  He had three fingers buried inside him now, and the more Steve worked his fingers, the hotter and slicker Bucky grew.  Bucky groaned long and low as Steve began to experiment with curling his joints forward while he prepared himself for Bucky.  
  
And suddenly Bucky was spilling over.  His balls tightened, his body tensed, and he dug a hand into Steve’s blonde hair as he came.  God it felt good: sensual, tender, and all the while watching Steve looking up at him passionately from under impossibly long lashes.  But even as he crested over the top and started to come back down, Bucky never sank into the pleasant, sleepy buzz of satisfaction.  Instead, desire still pooled in his loins, his body aching with an emptiness that wasn’t filled by his orgasm or Steve’s fingers.  
  
“Christ, Stevie…” Bucky breathed when he could finally string words together again, “Where’d ya learn to do that?”  
  
Steve couldn’t keep the smug grin off his face as Bucky collapsed under him, wiping his chin off with the back of his hand.  “Lots of practice in my imagination,” he quipped before sweeping Bucky’s body back up and crushing their mouths together.  Steve’s erection was impatient: a hot firebrand trapped between them, pressing eagerly against Bucky’s hip.  “I want you,” Steve breathed heavily into his ear once they parted.

“I’m yours,” Bucky whispered back fiercely, gripping him hard by the shoulder.  “Have you imagined what comes next, hotshot?” 

“Probably more than you’d care to know,” Steve growled possessively into his ear, and fuck if Bucky didn’t nearly come again right then and there.  One of his hands gripped Bucky under the knee and pulled his leg up and over, hooking it onto his shoulder.  Steve let a smug grin fall over his face as he reached down and positioned himself.  Bucky’s body was ready for him: slick, hot, and allowed him to sink balls-deep into him in one long, moaning thrust forward.  Bucky tightened and shuddered around his girth, a guttural groan slipping from his mouth.  It was everything he craved, and yet how could it also be so much better than he even remembered?  A selfish part of him wanted this moment to last forever.  

“Fuck,” Steve huffed out against Bucky’s face, resting their foreheads together.

A smile curled Bucky’s lips as he ran his fingers through Steve’s short hair, letting his arms block everything out but Steve’s face.   He gave his hips an experimental roll, and “Fuck,” Bucky echoed.  He was so big, hard, hot and absolutely _perfect_.    

Steve kissed him again, drinking Bucky in as he bucked his hips.  It was overwhelmingly intense: Steve moved between drawing the shuddering moans from his lips and mouthing hungrily at his ears, whispering “God, Bucky, I want to go slow, but it’s maddening. You’re so tight around me!”

“Yeah, sorry I’m too damn good.” Bucky panted with a laugh, deliberately squeezing himself around Steve for added measure.  “But,” Bucky grinned with glazed eyes, “In your defense, you’re fucking huge.  Christ, I don’t know how you went without for so long.” 

Bucky had never imagined it could be like this: having some of the most passionate, intense sex in his life with _Steve_ while still giving him hell (though in his defense, he was honestly trying to help him delay).  This wasn’t a desperate, needy fuck to satisfy a maddening hunger.  This felt _right_.  

Steve tried to laugh, but it cut off into a moan as he continued to pulse his hips against Bucky’s body.  “Waiting… for…” he grabbed Bucky’s hips and shuddered, riding out a wave of pleasure that threatened to overtake him, “…right partner, ‘member?” he finally got out, burying his face in the crook of Bucky’s neck. “Oh…OH..."

“Yeah, Steve,” Bucky crooned, almost hating how his heart felt just as filled by those words as he felt by Steve’s cock. 

Bucky felt Steve tense up inside him, knowing he’d be following Steve over the line as soon as he came, “That’s it – let it go,” he murmured into his ear, “come in me; I need to feel you!”  

Steve’s whole body began to shake, his hips jutting sharply and unevenly against Bucky’s pelvis as he roared into Bucky’s shoulder.  

Steve’s orgasm hit Bucky like a truck and sent him soaring into a state of pure bliss.  He could never seem to hold onto the memory of just how overwhelmingly amazing it was until he was once again in the throes of the orgasm itself.  But even now, he had enough cognizance to realize it was different from when Steve went down on him moments ago, as his body soaked in all of the energy that Steve was pumping into him.  It was different from when Bucky was out of his mind with need and pulled orgasm after orgasm out of Steve the month before, as this time there was meaning and genuine emotion behind the sex.  And it certainly was a far cry from the needy fixes in the alleys.

Bucky gasped, clinging hard to Steve as he could feel energy zinging through his body, searching for somewhere to go.  It was so much, but at the same time, he could _feel_ that Steve had so much more to give.  He wasn’t even hungry any more, but Steve was still inside of him, hot and hard and brimming with so much potential so that it just felt. So. Damn. Good. “More, please more,” tumbled from Bucky’s mouth as he greedily clenched down around Steve.  His body gave a long, undulating writhe and he felt another shot of hot pleasure fire into him.   Moan after moan, Steve continued to pump into Bucky, his body growing increasingly slick with sweat.

He should stop.  He should stop now.  He was good, he was so beyond good.  He had more than enough; he _knew_ any more was just going to invite it to get worse.  It was probably already too late, but maybe he could at least mitigate the damage if he cut himself off now.  

_Maybe one more._  
  
No.  
  
With a grunt, Bucky pressed back against Steve’s chest and pulled himself off with a wet squelch before falling back against the bed, reeling and panting, his body alight with sensation.  

Steve collapsed on top of him, pulling his head up to find Bucky’s lips.  “I love you,” he whispered against him before kissing him deeply.

Bucky moaned into Steve’s mouth, thankful for the kiss as an excuse not to return those words he longed to repeat back to Steve.  His heart was fluttering in his chest.  He felt like he could run a marathon or tear Hydra apart single-handed.  Instead, he put every word he longed to say into the kiss.  

Eventually, after what felt like forever, Steve rolled over on the bed, pulling Bucky with him so that he was nestled under him arms.  He snagged the damp towel that had fallen by the wayside, and gave the two of them a quick wipe down.  Buckly felt full, snug, and oh-so-comfortable as rested his head against Steve’s chest, basking in the heat radiating off of him.  “That… Bucky, wow.”  A smile wound up on his face he couldn’t shake.  “You’re incredible…”

“Back atcha, pal-” Bucky began before a flinch crossed his face as he was struck with the sudden realization that something was off.  The electric buzz of pleasure that had been thrumming through him began to gather at the base of his wriggling tail.  Sometimes, Bucky hated being right.  “Ah hell, not again,” Bucky lamented as he buried his face into Steve’s chest, scared to watch, but even more scared to see Steve’s face.  

“Bucky, what-?” Steve was cut off as Bucky’s tail began to extend inch by inch with a series of audible cracks, each of which sent spikes of pleasure through him.  

“Fuck fuck fuck,” Bucky murmured into Steve’s chest, almost surprised when he felt a heavy hand begin to stroke his hair.  

“Does it hurt?” Steve asked hesitantly.

Reluctantly, Bucky shook his head against him.  “No,” He groaned, “It – mmph – oughta.  Almost wish it would.” 

“What do you mea- _Oh_.” Steve shifted a bit under the press of Bucky’s still-hard cock.  Bucky could feel a line of tension pass through Steve’s body, but his hand resumed carding through his hair.  “Just… just breathe.  We’ll fix this, Buck.  I promise you.”

Bucky heaved a frustrated, plaintive sigh as he squeezed his eyes shut and rode out the changes.  He felt humiliated and vulnerable, but at the very least, all of the pressure and shifting seemed to be limited to one area of his body.  Only when the twinges and pops subsided did Bucky finally lift his head and risk a glance over his shoulder to assess the damage.  

“It’s not so bad,” Steve offered as Bucky lifted his tail with a sinuous arc of newly lengthened muscle.  It was about a foot longer than it had been beforehand, and a series of raised, knobby ridges followed the last few vertebrae of his back and down the first few inches of his tail.  As he watched, they seemed to flex and protrude for a moment as Bucky tensed before receding to small bumps as shock melted into exhaustion.  

“I guess.”  Bucky conceded weakly. “But what even looks like that?  No, nevermind.  I just... I don’t want to think about it right now.  Can I just stay here like this tonight, Steve?” Bucky pleaded, already fading.  It felt like he’d just had a huge meal and finally gotten comfortable: he was full, physically beat, mentally exhausted, and being carried away by the pleasant, tingling afterglow from sex and the change.  He wanted nothing more than to just lie in Steve’s arms and fall asleep.  

“Of course, Buck.” Steve’s voice drifted to him as his eyelids drooped.  “Go to sleep; I’ve got you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks again to Kamiki for helping co-write this chapter with me 83


	25. Chapter 25

Steve couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept so well.  But while nightmares of the battlefield hadn’t been able to reach him through his peaceful slumber, his internal clock remained aggressively punctual.  So like it or not, dawn came like the crack of a whip despite being in a room with no windows.  

But Steve found it hard to regret waking early when what he woke up to was a warm, comfortable bed with a serenely sleeping Bucky tucked into his arms.  Besides, just because he was awake didn’t mean he had to get out of bed yet.  Bucky and the other Commandos deserved to sleep in after the fight they’d had yesterday; he could allow himself at least a few more minutes to savor sharing a bed with Bucky.  After all, if he got up, he’d wake Bucky, too.  So he was being downright charitable by staying in bed. 

At some point in the night, they had shifted so that Steve had taken the role of the big spoon, with Bucky’s back pressed against his chest and Steve’s arm wrapped around his waist.  It was still a little jarring just how small Bucky felt in his arms now, but Steve couldn’t help but smile into Bucky’s hair at the thought of how this was an inversion of the cold Brooklyn nights where Bucky had kept him warm hoping to forestall a case of pneumonia.  And he couldn’t deny how right it felt being the one to hold and protect him.  But even with his back to him, there was a part of Bucky that, perhaps subconsciously, found a way to cling back: Bucky’s tail had coiled itself around his thigh in a snug, possessive hold.  Steve knew that he should probably be unsettled by it, but the warm skin wrapped around him felt more like a tender handhold or unconscious search for support than anything disturbing.  And besides, it was still _Bucky_.  

Maybe he was allowing himself to enjoy this too much, because, Steve realized in an epiphany, he _wanted_ this.  Not just here, not just now.  The world made so much more sense waking up with Bucky in his arms; it had just taken him an embarrassingly long time to realize that the reason he never could imagine a life without Bucky by his side was because he was in love with him.  Steve had found the puzzle piece he never even realized he had been missing: and when it suddenly snapped into place, he could see the picture of what his life was meant to be.  

That of course meant that he would need to have a serious heart to heart with Peggy.  She deserved to know the truth.  In another life, he knew they would have been happy together.  But once the idea that he could actually be with Bucky in the way he'd been scared to imagine had become a real possibility, Steve knew who his heart belonged to.  He had already let her know before leaving England that he needed to speak with her, but what he needed to say had to be said in person when they had time to talk.  He would never want to string her along, and for once he was glad that their relationship had been in an ambiguous limbo to be resolved after the war.  

It was selfish of him to want this, especially when Bucky had made it clear that what had brought them together was the need that Hydra had forced upon him.  Despite Bucky’s reluctance to get him involved, Steve _liked_ the idea that he could satisfy Bucky’s needs and keep him fed.  The very thought of Bucky having to go to other men to sustain himself deeply unsettled him.  Steve could and should be the one to help him, whether it be short or long-term.  

Ultimately, Steve realized that he was terrified that if Bucky was cured, he was going to lose him for good.  He’d push him away because he was ashamed of what he’d done, or because he could see Steve’s love for the flawed thing that maybe it was.  But, if this kind of love was wrong, why didn’t it _feel_ deviant?  After the sex last night, that had been even more emotionally intense than physical, he felt closer to Bucky than he ever had before.  Maybe the serum had never “cured” him because there had been nothing wrong with him to begin with.   Steve had been in awe of Bucky from the day they met till this moment as he watched him sleeping peacefully in his arms.  Even if- _when_ Bucky was cured, and if sex were off the table, Steve would give anything to spend his life with him in whatever context Bucky was up for.  And maybe, hopefully, that would be enough for both of them. 

Who knew: maybe even after Bucky was cured, what he felt for Steve now wouldn’t be stripped from him.  And if Bucky had no desire to see him again afterwards, well, that would be his choice and he would tell Peggy the truth regardless. 

For now, Steve wouldn’t miss the chance to savor the moment, make sure Bucky understood how he felt, and help prove to Bucky that he was absolutely worthy of being loved.  Steve dipped his head to kiss the back of Bucky’s neck and brushed a hand through his hair, yielding a pleased murmur and a wide, genuine smile that stretched Bucky’s lips.   

Finally, Bucky’s eyes cracked open, and the satisfied smile lingered on his face for a few more precious moments before distorting into a sheepish wince.  He opened his mouth, but Steve interjected before he could dampen the moment.  

“No, Bucky, please don’t apologize; I know what you’re going to say, so let me say something first.  I don’t regret last night for a moment.  You are not a burden on me.  All the times you worked extra shifts to help get me medicine: _that_ was a burden.  I wouldn’t trade what we did last night for anything.”

“No, Steve it’s nothing like-” Bucky tried to cut in despite just having been told to shut his yap.   
  
“C’mon, jerk, I’m trying to say something here.” Steve spoke over him, earning him a scowl, but a quiet scowl.  Steve counted that as a victory.  “This is something I am happy to share with you.  I love you, and I love the fact that I can be the one to help you.  You don’t have to say it back to me; I understand if this is frightening and overwhelming for you.  And I understand if it’s difficult to work out where your feelings are coming from right now.  But I’ve been thinking about it, and after the war if you still feel the same way about me, I want to find a way to make this work.”

This time, Bucky was quiet all on his own for a few moments, his eyes downcast and working his jaw as if he were trying to shake loose words that were stuck between his teeth.  Finally, he seemed to find what he was looking for, “What if after the war I’m still like this?  What if we never find a way to fix this or there isn’t a way at all?” Steve couldn’t help but notice Bucky never said that it wasn’t something he wanted, but was gauging Steve’s commitment.  
  
Steve caught Bucky’s chin to make sure he met his eyes and poured every ounce of his vast sincerity into his words, “Whether or not you’re cured, Bucky, I love you.”  To prove his point, Steve reached down and laid his hand gently against Bucky’s tail where it was still wrapped around his leg. 

Humiliation crushed Bucky’s face as he looked down sharply and quickly began to unwind it, “Christ, Steve, I’m sorry – I didn’t realize it was touchin’ you!  I-”

“No, Buck – it’s fine.”  Steve soothed as he rubbed at it tenderly with his thumb, earning him a small intake of breath from Bucky.  “It doesn’t bother me because it is a part of you.  That’s what I’m trying to say here.  Besides, you can’t tell me that if it had come from a better place, you wouldn’t think it was a little swell.  I know how much you love pictures with aliens and monsters.”   
  
Bucky snorted derisively, but Steve caught a brief glimpse of a smile on his lips, and he left the tail where it was, even giving Steve's leg a quick squeeze. 

“I get it, Buck.  I really do.”  Steve continued.  “Everyone thinks it must have been easy for me to go from a ninety-five pound shrimp to, well, _this_.  And don’t get me wrong, it was a blessing and I don’t regret it for a minute.  But I can’t tell you how many times I gave myself a start when I caught a glimpse of myself in a mirror out of the corner of my eye, or how many doorknobs I broke when I was still learning my strength.  And I don’t think I’m ever going to get used to the fact people treat me different just cause of how I look.”  
  
Bucky shook his head, but there was hesitation in his voice.  “You don’t need to put up with having a freak and a queer dragging you down when you could have _everything_.  I don’t want that, Steve.  I could never forgive myself if you ruined your life to help me.  I know you care about me, Steve, but I also know that you really love Peggy.  I saw the sketches of her in your journal in Italy after you rescued me.  I could _see_ the love you put into the each and every drawing of her face.”  

Steve blinked “I told you before, Buck, I don’t want everything.  I want to do my part, I want to help people, and I want _you_.  You don’t have to be scared of me getting my ass kicked in an alleyway because I’m queer any more.  And who knows, maybe that will teach people some damn tolerance.  I do love you, Bucky.  And if you don’t believe me, maybe you should take a look through more than just one page of my sketchbook.”  

Steve pulled the leather-bound book out of his bag and handed it to Bucky, giving him an encouraging nod.

Bucky hesitated for a moment before he opened the cover and started paging through its contents.  There was a wry twist of his lips at the sketch of him as a dancing monkey, a fond smile at the memories rendered onto paper of the old neighborhood in Brooklyn, and his eyes softened at some of the drawings he’d done of the train and landscapes he’d seen when he finally made it overseas.   

“You’ve always been a great artist, Steve, but I don’t see-” Bucky stopped mid-sentence as he reached a page that was nothing but drawings of his face.  He didn’t say anything, but his finger traced over the lines of the pencil that had captured Bucky’s confident smile, the deliberate cant of his hat, and his sharp uniform.  It was the image of Bucky from his last night in Brooklyn, and the shade that had hung over Steve’s shoulder for months when they were apart.  Steve had filled pages of the book with images of Bucky before he found him in Kreischberg: in his crisp uniform, in his work clothes, and even grinning in the kitchen and trying (and failing) to make them supper.  Bucky was his home, Bucky was his heart, and when he had sketched him, he could pretend that Bucky was there with him as he set off to Europe and the war.  

Bucky nodded as if vindicated when he found the page of Peggy’s expressions, and granted, that wasn’t the only page where Steve had lovingly tried to capture her spirit and poise.  But Bucky whet his lips and his brow furrowed as he continued to turn pages, and saw his own eyes looking back at him on just as many pages of his journal as she was – especially after their reunion.  On one page, Steve had tried to capture the haunted look in Bucky’s eyes that Steve had only recently learned the source.  In another, Bucky and the Howlies laughed around a campfire; Dugan was captured mid-story with his hands spread wide.  Bucky finally closed the journal, overwhelmed, when he reached a full two-page spread where Steve had spent hours during watch one night trying to perfectly capture the way the moonlight hit the planes of his face and glinted through the smoke of his cigarette when he collected himself after a difficult battle.

“Do you really not want this, Buck?  We could have it: waking up in each others’ arms every morning and damn what anyone else has to say about it.”

Bucky shook his head tightly as he mutely handed Steve’s sketchbook back to him.  “It’s a fairy tale, Steve.” Bucky responded with gravel in his voice.  “Maybe we can pretend for a little bit, but sooner or later it’s going to come crashing down around our ears.”  
  
It wasn’t a no. Steve had a suspicion that Bucky wanted this as much as he did, but was still trying to protect him.   “Yeah, well, maybe we’re living in a fairy tale.  Sure as hell seems like it lately.  So just promise me you won’t write it off yet.”

Bucky’s mouth tightened and he shrugged with one of his shoulders.  “Fine.  We’ll play it by ear.”  Bucky sounded unconvinced, but Steve would take it.  

He planted a soft kiss on his cheek and gave Bucky’s shoulder a squeeze, catching a tiny smile on his face out of the corner of his eye.  “Now hey, let’s catch up with the rest of the Commandos and give this place a thorough search.  I’ll wager you a fiver we can find something to at least point us in the right direction.  All our intelligence suggested that the ritual materials at the very least funneled through this compound at one point in time.  Somewhere around here there's got to be a hint of where they went.”

Bucky’s mouth quirked upwards, although the smile didn’t quite reach his eyes.  “Sounds like a win-win to me, pal.”  


	26. Chapter 26

As it turned out, Poland hadn’t been a complete dead end.  The search of the factory in Leszno had eventually revealed a few remaining crates with jars of cryptic substances and the occasional body part that had been earmarked for shipment to an address in Prague.  Some of them had already even been loaded up onto transportation vehicles, which indicated hot intel while serendipitously giving them a damn convenient way to get there. 

Bucky was trying his damndest not to see this as just another step along a circuitous wild goose chase.  But by every right, this lead was looking promising, and granted, after the night before with Steve, Bucky’s mood was more than a little elevated.  So Leszno hadn’t been the final destination for the shipments of occult paraphernalia, but it had been a big way station.  And taking out this complex, while it had been a damned hard fight, might very well have dealt an important blow to ultimately destroy Hydra.  Positivity: see, Bucky could try it out every now and then.  

They’d spent a few more days in Leszno radio-ing back and forth with the SSR and planning out the Prague mission until it became too risky to stay put.  The SSR had been able to coordinate with the Czech UVOD resistance and arranged for a guide to get them into the city once they made it there.  Prague was still in the ironclad grip of occupation, and they needed to keep the mission small, quiet, and targeted.  That meant another stealth mission, but after the clusterfuck that was the Leszno assault, Bucky was almost thankful.  

So cue a repeat performance of _Six Howling Commandos in the Back of a Truck_ , only this time with much less pent-up “frustration”, and a six-hour show instead of two.  And hell if Bucky wouldn’t take that five times over instead of even five minutes stuck around the fellas when he was in a bad way again.  

So that’s how they wound up driving the truck into the Vltava miles from the city in the dead of night, meeting up with a member of the UVOD resistance, and proceeding the rest of the way bundled up in nondescript clothing through the building-crowded streets of occupied Prague.  

Unlike many of the cities they’d visited, Prague had been spared from much of the firebombing from both sides, and as Bucky traveled between the ancient buildings, he understood why.  The narrow streets curved around buildings that looked every bit of their 500 plus year history.  Still-functioning apothecaries nestled between ancient cathedrals and converted-but-still-maintained multi-story houses with colorful orange and blue tiled roofs.  Not a single building looked like it had been built this century.

Their destination lay near the heart of the old town, but fortunately on the other side of the river from the grand Prague Castle, which had become the headquarters for the Nazi occupation of the Bohemian and Moravian regions.  

“Awfully ballsy for Hydra to have a base in the fucking heart of the city,” Dugan muttered quietly under his breath as the procession wove their way through the streets.  

“Prague is under Hitler’s thumb and the Allies know the city’s too valuable to bomb.” Gabe responded.  “It’s one of the jewels of Europe.” 

“Yeah, well, with the sort of cultist bullshit they’re trying, you’d think they’d still want to keep the hell away from city central.” Dugan grumbled.  

“What better place to hide than in plain sight?”  Steve responded.  “All kinds of cults and secret societies operated right under peoples’ noses in big cities throughout history.  And situated deep in an occupied city protected from firebombs?  It’s the perfect location for a small but important Hydra base.  From what we’ve gathered, this location is even a well-guarded secret within Hydra.”  

Bucky was hesitant to get his hopes up, but he couldn’t have designed a more promising lead.  

Their guide, Havel, stopped them as he checked his notes against the street signs.  “This is the place.”

Had it not been for the plaque above the stately doors to the manor proclaiming it “Faustuv Dum”, Bucky didn’t think he would have picked this place out of a lineup of all the gothic buildings they’d strolled past.  The building was large, taking up a full city block and looked to be about four stories tall with much of the exterior walls having been painted a deceptively charming salmon color.  No guards were posted outside, and Bucky was about to question their intel when the faintest scent of stringent chemicals wafted past his nose.  The hair on the back of his neck stood on end and he could feel the set of ridges down his spine tense and press against the fabric of his clothes as the memories of torturous hallucinations while strapped to an altar assaulted him.  Yeah, this was certainly the place.

 “What does Faustuv Dum mean?” Dum Dum asked.  
  
“The Faust House,” Havel, murmured quietly.    

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Bucky groaned, “Like the Devil’s Bargain Faust?” This was really fucking rich.  But, assuming Hydra had actually infested the place, what better location for legitimate rituals?  Still, Bucky was feeling less and less confident the longer they stood outside the walls of this place.  Despite its innocuous exterior, there was something deeply unsettling about its presence.  Maybe between his memories and the smells he was just psyching himself up, but a building named after Faust?  Bucky really didn’t like those implications.   
  
_C’mon Buck, no need to get ahead of yourself._

“That’s the one.  He did not actually live here, mind you, but the house has a history of being owned by alchemists and other unsavory eccentrics.  Some say it is haunted, others say the original owner tried to summon the devil, but was dragged to Hell for his hubris.  Still others say there is still a treasure or some kind of spellbook hidden in the walls.”  Havel said.  “I will say, I do not envy you boys, but I wish you well.  I will be waiting by the statue of Vitezslav Halek in the park just north of here until dawn, and will lead you back out of the city.  If you cannot make the time, I will be back tomorrow at the same place just past sunset.  Good luck.”  

*  
Bucky took back everything he’d thought about the innocuous appearance of the manor the second they stepped inside.  From the mysterious charred hole in the ceiling to the walls of the home having been painted in elaborate murals of what Gabe said were funerary texts, even Dum Dum seemed a little unsettled.  

Shortly after making it inside, they split up, and Steve actually paired the two of them together.  Bucky wasn’t sure if it was because Steve was feeling pity for him here facing his demons, because of what they’d shared in Poland, or if he was just tired of giving a damn about playing favorites, but it felt good to have each others’ backs as they crept along the darkened corridors.  

Bucky kept his Thompson on his back, but clutched his trusty Fairbairn-Sykes knife and kept his other hand poised above the portable telegraph strapped to his belt. But as they forayed deeper into the manor that put B movie horror flicks to shame, the cloying odor of foul chemicals and decay that he’d picked up on outside might as well have set up residence in his nose.  There was no mistaking that smell, and it took all of Bucky’s mettle to hold back the flood of memories tied to that scent that threatened to overcome him.  Whether or not he would admit it, he was glad for Steve’s presence by his side anchoring him to the present and keeping his mind focused on the task at hand.  

Occasionally, the tapping of a signal came through from one of the other teams giving a brief description of rooms or – in the case of Gabe, Dernier and Morita’s trio about ten minutes in, a report of a brief but successful scuffle with few patrolling guards.  No gunfire, and no sign that word of their intrusion made it past the pair of soldiers they ran across.  

Bucky held a hand up as they passed a doorway, earning him raised eyebrows from Steve.  The stink was particularly strong here, and there was a faint movement of cool air from around the edges of the doorway.  A basement.  Of course.  In response to Steve’s silent question, Bucky tapped out a message to the group: 

FOUND BASEMENT ENTRANCE STOP ROGERS AND BARNES ARE HEADED DOWN OVER

Steve nodded at him, signaled for him to move aside and readied his shield before swiftly opening the door, breaking a lock in the process.

Nothing but darkness and a cold breeze with a nearly overpowering stench greeted them.  Steve grimaced, side-eying Bucky.  Bucky knew Steve well enough to know that look: _are you ready for this?_   He’d been in the room in Kreischberg; he had to recognize the odor. 

Damn straight he was ready.  Bucky grit his teeth and nodded back and set off down the darkened stairwell, swallowing down the bile that threatened to escape his throat and determined to finally get some damned answers.

Steve slid the shutter on the lantern nearly closed, leaving only a bare sliver of light as they descended into the cellar, their footsteps echoing back at them as they trod down the ancient, uneven stone staircase.  

Bucky knew he had reached the bottom when his boot was greeted by a wet splish.  He knew his stomach had bottomed out when Steve’s light made it there a moment later and he discovered that what he had stepped in was decidedly not water.  

“My God, it’s blood,” Steve’s voice broke the silence.  But before Bucky could shush him, a figure surged towards them out of the darkened room.  

Bucky reacted faster than he even processed what was going on.  The next thing he knew, he had seized it by what felt like its throat, and spun, slamming it hard against the stone archway of the stairwell.  His knife pressed firmly against flesh and he heard a ragged, burbling gasp.  

The shutter of Steve’s light slid open with a metallic grind, and light spilled out to reveal what exactly Bucky had snagged.

His stomach wrenched.  Carved deeply into the chest of the man, or at least what had once been a man, was an eerily familiar series of circles and glyphs crusted with an infected-looking scab and oozing yellow puss.  The entire left side of his face had swollen to the point where his eye had nearly been engulfed in red, puffy skin.  His body was disturbingly devoid of hair, but dark scale-like scabs erupted haphazardly over his nude body and his finger and toenails were long and ragged.  Deep angry gouges marred both of his wrists, and the cuff of a set of rust and blood-encrusted manacles and a few links of chain still hung around his left ankle.  

Bucky released his vicegrip on his neck immediately and pulled the knife away, disgusted with himself at the thin cut it had left at the base of his throat.  He held his hands up in a placating gesture.  Christ, this poor bastard… that could have been him, and he’d nearly killed him on reflex.  “We’ll get you out of here, pal.” Bucky tried to soothe, but knew his face must have been twisted into a wince.  

The prisoner’s good eye widened, flickering between their clothing and faces as understanding and – relief? – seemed to pass across the right side of his face.  Faster than Bucky expected a man who must have been in so much pain to be able to move, he grabbed Bucky’s knife hand, and pulled it back to his throat.  “ _Zabij mě!”_   

Bucky didn’t need to speak Czech to know what the poor bastard was begging for.  “No… Christ, we’ll get you help, we’ll-“  
  
The man’s face twisted, “ _prosím_!” he insisted, and jerked Bucky’s hand again.    

Bucky froze.  He knew this would be a mercy kill, but _God_ , what if – what _if_ he had been like this when Steve found him?  Would Steve have even recognized him?  Would he still have had the will to live or would he have begged Steve to end it, too?  The warm squeeze of Steve’s hand on his shoulder wrenched him out of the horrific scenario he had conjured and back into the present. 

“No one would want this,” Steve whispered softly.  

Steve slid the lantern’s shutter closed, plunging them into merciful darkness.  Bucky took a breath, set his jaw, and drew his knife in a clean cut across the man’s throat.   
He felt a spray of hot blood hit his face, heard a brief gurgle, and then a thud as his body hit the floor.   
  
Bucky swallowed thickly, murmured a brief prayer, and turned away.  He took a few moments with eyes closed in the darkness to try to steady himself.  He knew this was exactly the place he had been seeking, but Bucky was suddenly unsure if he was ready to face it. 

As if he read his mind, Steve’s voice floated to him, “Hey Buck?  If you want… you can go back up.  You don’t have to see this.” 

Bucky clenched his jaw.  “Yes I do.”  He barely remembered any details about The Backroom of the Hydra base in Austria.  He had been so drugged that he wasn’t entirely sure what had been real or what he had dreamt.   For better or for worse, he needed to see this.  

“Alright, Buck.”  Steve’s hand found his and gave it another squeeze, “I’m here.”  There was a click as Steve hit a switch on the wall, and light filled the room.  

Bucky was immediately glad for Steve’s hand, because as the basement was revealed in its entirety, Bucky nearly fell to his knees.  All of a sudden, he was back in his nightmare memories of Austria.  He hadn’t thought he remembered the precise layout of the room he’d spent the better part of a week in, but all of the hazy questionable memories suddenly crystallized in his head when he found himself standing in what must have been a carbon copy of the other ritual room.  It was replicated in painstaking detail: from the massive overhead beams and columns to the design painted in blood across the floor.  The same glyphs Bucky had carved until his fingers bled were etched into the stone walls, and criss-crossing wires that still carried the scent of ozone covered the walls and ceiling.  

Bucky wrested his eyes away, forcing himself to focus for a moment on Steve to make himself recognize that no, he wasn’t still somehow back in Austria.  Steve was here, and had gone as ashen-faced as Bucky felt.  

Re-centered and reassured he was still free and in his right mind, Bucky stepped carefully out into the chamber, avoiding the large design painted across the floor of the room.  There was another altar marred with smeared blood at the very center with old, heavy iron manacles drilled into the old stone.  

However, as Bucky took in the tableau, differences began to emerge.  While there was a large generator that looked anachronistically sophisticated compared to the magic doo-dads, it was still and silent.  No energy traveled through the wires arcing around the room.  And at the far end of the domed chamber was an inset area full of cages.  The door to the nearest one hung ajar, seeming to have been wrested off of its hinges and a snapped chain affixed to the wall and a few small splatters of blood.  The grout between the large stones on the back wall were scored and bloody. 

“This must be where the poor bastard was being held,” Steve murmured to Bucky, who had followed him like a mute shadow as he explored the grizzly scene.  

Bucky shuddered, moving past the cell to inspect the others.  Four out of five of them contained a body:  each were men in their prime with weeks’ worth of beard growth and unwashed clothes; all of them had been shot cleanly in the head, seeming to have been left where they fell.  Small dishes of water, cleaned trays and waste buckets still sat in their cells.  

Past the cells, the basement kept going, the ceiling sloping downwards to nearly brush the top of Steve’s head.  However, the smell of lime was stringent, blocking out even the smell of death and chemicals that choked the rest of the basement.  Bucky experimentally dug a fingernail into the mortar between the bricks to find that it still had a bit of give.     
  
Bucky’s stomach knotted again.  What if they were too late?  Only one of the prisoners here had been kept alive; the others looked like they hadn’t been through whatever vile experiments Hydra had been conducting yet.  This place had all the earmarks of having been recently shut down.   
  
Bucky tapped on the wall, “This is new.  I don’t know what they were trying to hide.  We could break it down, but that would probably alert anyone else in the manor that we’re here.”  

Steve frowned, his eyes shadowed.  “I never told you what I saw after I rescued you from Kreischberg.  On the other end of the room was a series of catacombs, and piled up in the chambers were…” Steve hesitated, shaking his head with a frown, “I think they were failed experiments.  Some of the bodies looked like they were burned to a crisp, but others had symbols carved into their skin like the poor guy out there or...” Steve’s brow knit as he looked at Bucky.  “I always second-guessed myself about the thing on your chest.  The lighting was bad in there, but I swore it had been carved into your skin when I found you.  But by the time we made it out it looked like it was just painted on.”

Bucky wrapped his arms around himself.  “I was delirious through most of it.  There was a lot of pain, and I saw a lot of things, but none of it seemed real.  But I remember how bad my chest hurt while they had me: as if it was getting sliced into.  Later I thought that must have just been part of my hallucinations.”  So far this place was leaving him with more questions than answers.  

“Where do you think everyone is?” Bucky murmured quietly.  “Sides you and me and that poor bastard back there, there’s not a living soul down here.  When they were doing the rituals in Austria there was a whole group of cultists working under Zola.”

Steve shook his head as he tapped out a status report that the basement was cleared.  “It’s a big place, but the Commandos have been searching the grounds for the past thirty minutes or so and only come across a few guards on the premises.”

Bucky shook his head, heading back out into the main area of the basement to give it a closer look.  He opened up a few cabinets set into the wall, yielding more jars and vials of putrid-smelling organic material and unidentifiable chemicals.  “There was a book or something Zola was working outta, but I don’t see any books down here.”  Bucky sighed, trying not to let himself grow frustrated.  They were in the right place, maybe what he was looking for was just in another section of the house.  

Suddenly the comm device on Bucky’s belt started vibrating, nearly startling him out of his skin. 

FOUND THE ASSHOLE IN CHARGE STOP SECOND FLOOR NORTH WING OVER

*

Dugan met them outside the master bedroom, a grin splitting his face, “So turns out the bastard was sound asleep when we found him, not a fuckin’ clue that we were here.  Now, we know these Squid-Nazi bastards, so first thing I did is jam my billy club in his open mouth and root around for that damn cyanide capsule tooth.  Ganked it out and that sure as hell woke him up!  Falsworth’s in there with him: got him tied to a chair. He ain’t goin’ nowhere!”

Dum Dum’s grin was contagious, helping Bucky retrieve his mask of collectedness after the horror show in the basement.  “Hell, Dugan, sounds like you could be a dentist after all this is over if you’re lookin’ for a new career.  Nice work.” Bucky slapped him on the back.  

Dugan barked a laugh, “Fritz’ll probably beg to differ.  I don’t think the first tooth I pulled was the right one.”  

“Is it Zola?” Steve asked seriously.

Dugan’s grin faded, “Naw.  Unfortunately.  Says he’s Leopold Jaenig, the master of the house, though, and I bet we can give him the squeeze for some good intel.”

“I want to talk to him.  Alone.” Bucky’s face hardened.  

Steve seemed to weigh Bucky’s request for a moment before nodding decisively.  “Bucky, you can relieve Falsworth and the rest of us can finish clearing the compound.  Message us if you need anything.”  

“Will do, Cap.”  

Bucky tapped twice on the door to signal he was coming in before stepping into the lavish bedroom.  Falsworth stood with his gun at ready a few feet away from where a man had been tied securely to a desk chair with his back to the door.  He looked up and gave Bucky a nod. 

“I’m your relief.”  The edge in his voice said more than enough about what his intents were without having to let Falsworth be officially complicit with anything.  

“I see.” Falsworth said simply, tucking his handgun back into its holster.  As he passed Bucky he paused, giving his shoulder a squeeze, “Give him hell.” He uttered lowly before slipping quietly out of the room.  

Bucky deliberately let the silence hang in the room for a moment before walking around to face the prisoner.  

His chest seized as he recognized the man in the chair despite what appeared to be a freshly broken nose, and he’d be damned if he didn’t see his eyes widen marginally as well.  It wasn’t Zola, but it was damn sure another familiar face from Kreischberg.  “Well, if it isn’t Mr. Not-So-Shiny Boots.”  Bucky said with a sneer.  “So how long did it take you to clean my vomit from those spit-shined goose steppers?”

“You!  I remember you.  How are you still alive?” The man gasped with a thick German accent. 

“Maybe you and me’ll figure that out.” Bucky took a seat on the desk across from the man, slowly pulling the knife out of its sheath.  “I’ve got a lot of questions.”

The man’s eye flicked to his knife and to Bucky’s face as he visibly paled.  “I am certain that you do.  That knife – it will not be necessary.” 

“Not so brave without that little pill o’ yours to end things quick, huh?” 

Leopold scowled back at him, “I can not believe it is coincidence that Zola shut down the project not three days ago.  He is a soft egg who abandoned this facility before he could be captured! ”  

“Wait wait, hold on.” Bucky leaned forward, twirling the knife between his fingers.  “He knew we were coming?”   
  
“He must have.  We have been working for months here, and there has been progress. Then suddenly, he washes his hands of the project, disbands us, calls it a failure and says he is needed elsewhere.  He took the book and the power cells with him.”

He must have heard of what went down in Leszno.  “Where?  Where is Zola now?” Bucky seized on the nugget of information.

“I do not know where he is!”  Jaenig protested, but there was a falter in his voice.  

“I don’t believe you!” Bucky countered, flicking the knife smoothly to point towards his throat.  

“Wait – wait!  I do not know where he is, but I know where he will be.  He is due to take a train through the Alps back to Austria in two days time: the Schnellzug EB912.”  

“Why are you still here?” Bucky eased back, suspicious.  This was almost too easy, as if Zola wanted them to know where he was heading next.    

“He gave us no warning of attack.  This is my family home.  My grandfather, Karl Jaenig bought and restored this place to its illustrious history: a history that I was continuing with our work here,” he continued with rabid fervor.  

“Tell me about this work.”  Bucky interrupted what looked like it was about to be some megalomaniacal rant, “What in fuck’s name were you crazy Nazi cultists trying to do?”  He tried to sound critical, but this was the question he had been seeking an answer to for months on end.  

“The Americans had perfected their super soldier.  Hydra found another path to create something that could be an even greater asset, but all of our subjects have been too weak of constitution.  Or, perhaps, the ritual had not been performed to the precise parameters.  Zola grew frustrated when our first survivor, well… I heard you paid a visit to the basement.  It was not what he had been hoping for.  He said that he had already wasted too many resources on this when there are other brands in the fire.  I was not so quick to write off our success, but-“  

Jaenig paused, eying Bucky with a new glint in his eyes.  “You were there in Austria.  You were Zola’s final subject before the base was destroyed.  I thought you died on the altar.”   
  
“Did I fucking stutter?” Bucky raised his voice, returning the knife blade to Jaenig’s throat.  “What ‘path’ were you following?  What were you trying to do?”  

“It is Sergeant Barnes, is it not?” he grinned like a shark, “Tell me, why is it you wish to know so badly what it is we are doing here?  Even our old allies in the Third Reich were quick to dismiss our work as madness or fantasy.  Perhaps there is some personal investment?” 

“I’m the one asking the fucking questions!” Bucky pressed the tip of the knife against Jaenig’s jaw, drawing a bead of blood.  

Jaenig hesitated for a moment, until Bucky pressed a little harder, causing the words to spill from his mouth, “Zola said that the Tesseract had the power to provide us direct access to the unlimited energy of other realms!  The cube allowed us to unlock the formulas from the book that has been in my family since my grandfather uncovered it!  We could finally tap into the energy of the demon realm and channel it through the ritual to create the ultimate superhuman slave.”  

The floor might as well have dropped out from under Bucky.  “W-wait…”

Jaenig must have seen the impact of his words on Bucky’s face, because the shark grin was back, “A demon, Mr. Barnes.”  

No no no.  No fucking way.  He had to be screwing with him.  He had to be trying to get into his head, because that couldn’t possibly be real.

_But couldn’t it?_

Bucky was shaking.  He couldn’t possibly be a -     


  
_But think, Bucky: how many dime store pulp novels and horror flicks have you seen?  The ritual, the signs and the blood, a tail, the name of this fucking manor: you knew what it reminded you of; you were just too scared to think it._

_A demon._

Bucky had drifted from the church some time ago, and his time as a POW might as well have been the final nail in the coffin.  He hadn’t visited a priest or gone to confessional since he saw so many good men abandoned in their time of need to the hands of true evil.  Had he been asked, though, sure, he’d call himself Christian, even if his affiliation might be more in upbringing than real faith, but that didn’t lessen the gutblow of the idea of having become something so vile, so evil-

Bucky felt more than heard the stricken gurgle as he blinked back to reality and saw the blade in his hand half-burried in Jaenig’s throat.  

“Shit!” Bucky dropped the knife, bringing his hands to try to suppress the bleeding, but it was too late.  The knife had nicked his carotid artery, and he was quickly bleeding out between his fingers.  

“No no no,” Bucky murmured to himself, scared and furious.  How could he have – he was distracted, he was distraught – he wasn’t paying attention- “How do you reverse the spell?!”  He quickly demanded.  

Jaenig’s eyes were turning glassy when he smiled around bloody teeth, “You will be a magnificent jewel in Hydra’s crown, Mr. Barnes.  H-Hail Hydra.” 

Bucky was frozen as he watched Jaenig slowly slump down in his seat.  Maybe he did it to himself.  The tooth was removed and he saw an opportunity and took it.  Or maybe he had - 

It didn’t matter.  

Fuck, none of it mattered if what he said was true.  Bucky _knew_ that whatever they had done to him had worked.  They’d turned him into a literal sex demon – a – wait, there was even a fucking name for that, to, wasn’t there?  An incubus or something?  He really had been deep in fucking denial if that never occurred to him before. 

And now?  He couldn’t pretend any longer now that the cat was out of the fucking bag.  

And Steve… God Steve.  Bucky’s stomach churned and that FUCKING tail wound tighter around his leg.  He couldn’t know.  It would kill him.  Bucky may not have been able to hold onto his faith, but Steve had.  Because of course he had: always the optimist, always earnest and seeing the best in the world and hope where there wasn’t any.  Bucky loved that about him.  

Bucky dug his fingers into his short hair and sunk to a crouch as he let his emotions well up and work their way out into a sob while he was still alone.  One thing was certain: he sure as hell couldn’t touch Steve again and defile him with his fucking presence, if it wasn’t already too fucking late.  When Steve had said he wanted to stay with him, he hadn’t known what he had really signed on for.  Not this, not fucking this – anything but this.  If he hadn’t touched him, if he hadn’t _corrupted_ him, Steve and Peggy would have just gone on to have the perfect life.  

He couldn’t go home like this.  He couldn’t _be_ like this.  

The solution hit him like a bolt of lightning.  Maybe it wasn’t too late to save Steve, maybe it wasn’t even too late for his own soul… if he didn’t make it out of the war.  

*

Steve turned as Bucky trudged hollowly up to him, bloody sleeves and a vacant expression in his eyes.  

“Bucky- what happened?” Steve asked, immediately concerned. 

“Jaenig managed to kill himself, but not before giving up Zola.”  Bucky managed. “He’s going to be taking a train to Austria in two days.  But I’m worried it’s some kinda trap.”  

“What do you mean?”  
  
“I think Zola knew we were coming and got the hell out of Dodge before we showed up.  Jaenig said Zola betrayed him, which is why he was so quick to give him up, but he sure knew a hell of a lot about the train he was going to be on.”  

Steve frowned, crossing his arms.  “Two days to track down and catch a train?  That doesn’t give us a lot of leeway to decide.”

“Yeah, I know,” Bucky conceded.  He really didn’t like the smell of this, but a part of him had already resigned himself to it.  Zola was his last chance at salvation.

“But trap or no, we can’t pass on this rare opportunity to finally catch Zola.” Steve said decisively.  “For your sake, and the fact he’s Schmidt’s right hand man.”

Bucky nodded resolutely.  Steve was right.  

“Did he say anything else..?” Steve caged with a raised eyebrow.

Bucky shook his head tightly.  Steve couldn’t know.  Not until Bucky knew if there was a cure.  “No.”  He clipped.  

Steve watched him for a moment, but Bucky used the understandable frustration of Jaenig’s premature death to cover his lie.  Steve ultimately nodded, putting a sympathetic hand on his shoulder.  “We’ll catch Zola, Buck.  I’m sorry, I know how frustrating it must be with how close we got tonight, but we’ll figure out what’s going on, and we’ll make him give us the cure.”

“Yeah, I know we will, pal.”  They would, or Bucky would die trying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Faust House is a real place in Prague with some awesomely creepy history of occupants and a treasure still supposedly hidden within.  I had the chance to visit last year on a ghost tour of Prague (at least the outside, it now houses medical department for the local university and closed to the public) which gave me the inspiration.


	27. Chapter 27

Bucky knew it was a trap the moment the train car door slammed shut by itself.  He had only hung back for a moment to guard the rear, swearing he heard movement from behind them over the clatter of the train as it raced down the tracks.  But it was enough time for Steve to make it across the gangway to the next car up in the chain, and suddenly they were divided, locked in separate cars from the inside.  

He only had a moment to try to wrench the door open, but even his amplified strength was no match for whatever Hydra had outfitted this fucking future-train with.  He met Steve’s eyes helplessly through the windows in the doors before gunfire forced him to duck for cover behind the shelves.

The two Hydra soldiers had to be madmen or Kamikaze to open fire amid the crates blatantly marked _biologische waffen._ Bucky suspected the latter: with Intel confirming Zola was at the head of this train, he was taking every opportunity to pen them down and kill them.  A couple men and few more supplies would be a cheap price to pay to see the two of them killed.  

Bucky took a steadying breath and returned fire, catching the first man, but the other one ducked behind more crates. 

The unmistakable sound of one of those blue energy weapons carried through the partitions between the cars and Bucky’s heart seized in his chest.  It sounded like Steve was dealing with a much bigger problem than he was, and there was nothing he could do about it stuck here.  Fuck Zola, Fuck this mission; it had been too damn risky, but Zola _knew_ they would take the bait.  

Between trying to avoid cracking open the biological weapons, unable to shake his concern for Steve as he heard more energy blasts from the car behind him, and the remaining asshole he was up against actually being pretty damn good, he was having more fucking trouble than he should have.  Shot after shot missed the mark as the train rumbled and jerked along the tracks and the man clung to his dangerous cover.  

And that was exactly when his fucking gun jammed.  Because of course.  

Bucky squeezed into the corner, drawing in breath between clenched teeth as sweating bullets.  He was just trying to figure out what in the hell he could do before his opponent realized how fucked he was when Steve Rogers, God bless his soul, apparently had found a way to get the doors open.  Steve tossed him his pistol and charged, ramming a crate to send it careening towards the remaining soldier.  It was enough to get him to abandon his cover and gave Bucky the clear shot he needed.   

It was over in a moment, and damn he and Steve made a good team if he did say so himself. 

“Had him on the ropes.” Bucky breathed, more shaken than he cared to admit.  

“I know you did.” Steve returned with a fondness in his voice.  

The high pitched whine of a charging energy weapon shattered their brief moment of victory.  They both spun to face a monstrosity that looked part medieval knight and part science fiction robot lumbering towards them with massive double-barreled energy canons mounted over both arms.      
  
“Get Back!” Steve cried, interposing himself and his shield between them as Bucky opened fire.  But Bucky's bullets dinged harmlessly off of the armor a moment before the arm-canon unleashed a blast more massive than any of the weapons he’d seen fired by anything short of an energy tank. 

The energy blast slammed Steve back hard against the wall, sending his shield flying down the car as the energy ricochet ripped a yawning hole through the side of the train.  Frozen wind whipped through the compartment and Bucky risked a glance over to see Steve, laying prone.  

The tinny, but unmistakable voice of Zola blared through the speakers, “Fire again! Kill him!  Now!”  

The weapon flared blue as it charged again, the soldier taking aim at Steve.  Bucky just had a moment.  This was his chance.    
  
“The world needs Captain America more than it needs Bucky Barnes!” Bucky roared as he sprang, tackling the one-man-tank through the ruptured wall.  

As soon as they were through, Bucky instinctively twisted, grabbing frantically for anything – _any_ purchase to keep him from going over himself.  His hand caught something long and metal, and in one heart-stopping moment he heard a snap as the long bar came loose on one end, but then stopped, leaving him dangling precariously over an abyssal chasm.  The armored-up goon was not so lucky, falling like a rock into the gorge, having traded cumbersome armor and energy canons for maneuverability or free hands.

And as he watched him fall down… down… down… vertigo assaulted him.  Bucky found himself more terrified than he had ever felt in his life, clutching desperately to the creaking bar, the ticks and groans seeming to count down what little time he had left before the inevitable.  It was one thing to pull the sacrifice play to save Steve.  It was another thing entirely to be faced with your own impending death with nothing he could do but wait for it.  He tried to tell himself that he’d thought about this and it was better this way.  But when it _really_ hit him that he was about to die and would never see Steve again, never see his family again, Bucky realized he wasn’t ready. 

 “BUCKY!  Hang on!  Grab my hand!”  Steve’s voice ripped his eyes back towards the train car.  Steve had edged out of the breach, clinging to the side, but the gap between the broken railing Bucky clung to and Steve’s hand might as well have been the distance between Earth and the Moon.  

“Dammit, Bucky.  What you said back there: _I_ need you.” Steve was barely holding it together, reaching desperately for him as he stretched as far as he could reach, but it was still not nearly close enough.  

Bucky felt a massive groaning vibrate through the bar as the last bolts keeping it affixed to the train were giving out.  Bucky didn’t regret doing what he did to save Steve, but the thing he did regret the most?  At least he had enough time to mend that. “I love you, Steve!” Bucky shouted back fiercely as the bar snapped.

And for a moment, he was flying.  He let the scream of the icy wind in his ears drown out his fear and worry.  He was through.  He let himself focus on the fact that he was dying having done the right thing.  And maybe, just maybe that would be enough to save his soul. 

*  
  
*  
  
*

Peggy picked her way carefully through the sparse wreckage that had once been a lively tavern that had once harbored a group of optimistic young men eager to take on Hydra.  In one short year, war had ravaged the now bombed-out bar.  Yet, even torn asunder, the bar still served its purpose, even if to service just one man.

Peggy had heard that she could find Steve here, but she wasn’t sure that Falsworth had technically been correct.  The man who sat alone at a table with his back to the door, puffy eyes and a nose red from nonstop grief, was barely a shell of Steve Rogers.   

He glanced up briefly as her heels clicked against the uneven floor, a flash of hope in his eyes before it faded with a jaded shake of his head.    
  
He began to speak, “Dr. Erskine said that this serum wouldn’t just affect my muscles, it would affect my cells: create a protective system of regeneration and healing… which means I can’t get drunk.  Did you know that?”

Peggy knew Steve felt so very much, and her heart ached at the thought that he couldn’t even escape the loss of his dear friend for a little while with the distraction of liquor.  She gingerly picked up a fallen chair that had somehow survived the bombing intact and brought it to his table, taking a seat beside him.  “Your metabolism burns four times faster than the average person.  He thought it could be one of the side effects.”

Peggy paused with a sigh, dropping the charade of small talk.  “It wasn’t your fault.”

“Did you read the report?” Steve asked, not even bothering to disguise the bitterness in his voice.

“Yes.”  Peggy was not one for platitudes.  She had very well meant what she said.  

“Then you know that wasn’t true.” Steve choked.  

“You did everything you could.”  Peggy paused, seeing her words wash over Steve as ineffectively as the alcohol he was attempting to drown himself in.  Steve was stubborn, even when it came to shouldering the blame for something he could not possibly be held responsible for: Barnes’s decision to sacrifice himself in place of Steve.  She could see the gears turning in his mind and knew he was replaying the scene over and over again, looking for something he could have done differently: torturing himself.  

She reconsidered her words.  “Did you believe in your friend?  Did you respect him?  Then stop blaming yourself and allow Barnes the dignity of his choice.  He damn well must have thought you were worth it.”  

“I loved him, Peggy” Steve blurted out suddenly, his voice raw. 

“Of course you did, Steve-” Peggy began carefully.  There was no doubt that there was love shared between men who had grown up together and then gone on to fight a war at each others’ backs.  It was plain to anyone how close the two of them had been.  

“No.  I _loved_ him.” Steve emphasized.  “It took me too goddamn long to figure it out, and by the time I did, it was like the course had already been set.”  

Peggy was quiet for a moment, folding her hands carefully on the charred table.  She couldn’t lie to herself: there were times that she had wondered if there was more between Steve and his Sergeant than the love shared between brothers in arms.  But Peggy neither had the time nor inclination to make schoolyard speculations with a war going on.  And even now, as Steve laid his feelings out before her like a raw, open wound, she found that it did not diminish her respect for him.  There was so much love in Steve’s heart, and for him to choose to trust her with this possibly damning secret in his hour of grief spoke volumes of the importance he still held their relationship… and for how badly he was hurting if he was sharing his pain.  Peggy knew Steve well enough to know that he rarely, if ever, bled on anyone else.  What he was describing was not a passion borne out of the desperation of the battlefield, but a genuine love, and there was no instance where Peggy could hold something like that against him.   

There would be a time and a place for this conversation, but it would not be when Steve was still crushed under grief’s heel.  “Then if he loved you as well, and I suspect he did, then he would want his sacrifice to mean something.  He would want you to push forward.” 

Steve’s grief hardened to a knife’s edge.  “I’m going after Schmidt and I’m not stopping till all of Hydra is dead or captured.” 

Peggy reached out and set her hand on his.  “You won’t be alone.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And… that’s it folks! "Dragging You Down" is officially complete! However, the story is far from over. I’ve already turned this fic into a series “Falling’s Just Another Way to Fly” – and I have two more fics planned in the series. The next installment, “The Downward Spiral” is going to be a dark one going into Bucky’s time in Hydra’s capture. I might give myself a bit of a breather, but I don’t expect it will be TOO long before I start it. For those of you who don’t want to read something that dark, I will post a synopsis after it is completed. 
> 
> Thank you all so much for following along, for sharing this idea with me that had put down deep roots in my mind, and all feedback, comments, and kudos! As always, don’t hesitate to follow me on tumblr, comment, message me, etc!


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